


Between the Lines

by EllieRose101



Series: Between the Lines + [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 21,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/pseuds/EllieRose101
Summary: A series of "missing scenes" fleshing out how Spike and Buffy came to be, fitting in with canon from Seasons 4 through 7.





	1. When Harmony Met Spike

**Author's Note:**

> Given that this series is canon-compliant, Spike and Buffy don't start out together. Be aware that they will temporarily be with other people until they can get themselves sorted. As we get to scenes from Season Six, themes get a little darker. I'll update warnings as I go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene is set prior to Season Four's 'Harsh Light of Day.'

Spike was lying half sprawled over the countertop of a San Diego bar, drunkenly extolling the virtues of Drusilla, interspersed with lists of her faults, and curses of her name.

“We’re good together, y’know?” he drolled, for the fourth time in ten minutes.

“Yeah, man, I know,” replied a frat boy on a neighboring stool. “Not like me and my chick, I’m trying to get rid of her, but man is she dumb, can’t take a hint.”

“Dumb? My Drusilla’s not dumb! Cunning, that’s what she is.”

“Yeah, dumb as a breadbox,” the student continued, completely ignoring what the vampire said. Then he laughed, “Hey, if you’ve lost your own girl take mine!”

Spike shook his head, and almost fell out of his seat with the action. “No more bloody women! I’m done. Snakebite and Sunshine have done me in.”

“Totally,” the student affirmed. “Wait, what?”

“I’d tell you to treat her right – your…” Spike paused to take another swig from his beer, “Your girl. Doesn’t matter. Nope,” he shook his head again. “You treat ‘em like the princesses they are and they still walk all over you. Cause that’s where they think you should be, right? Beneath them. Ha!”

“My girl is hot though, isn’t she?” the boy interjected, gesturing to a blonde dancing in the crowd of his fellow students.

Spike’s eyes widened, “Sunshine. She’s here! Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll have to hide!”

The boy laughed and Spike looked about him. “She’s not coming for me? Am I too pathetic to stake?”

“Probably,” said the frat boy. “Hey, Harmony, com’ere.”

“Yeah, sweetness?” she replied, making her way over to them.

Suddenly Spike fell at her feet. “Ohh, who is this? He’s totally hot. I mean, don’t get insecure or anything. But, like, if you were a little jealous I wouldn’t mind.”

Frat boy gave her a confused look, then spoke down to Spike again. “See what I mean? You were saying you put up with years of shit from your woman–”

“Decades,” Spike corrected him in a slur as he tried to stand.

“Right. Betcha couldn’t put up with her for two days.”

“Shut up!” Spike hissed. “She’ll kick your ass, and then who am I gonna eat later?”

“You’re weird,” said Harmony. “But you like killing people? I’m down with that, but– hey! Eric is _my_ snack!”

“Who the hell is Eric?”

“Duh! My boyfriend? The one you've been sitting here talking to. Keep up!”

“What about Angel?” asked Spike.

Harmony smiled at him. “Did you just call me an angel?” She smacked the back of her hand across her boyfriend’s chest. “Eric! You never say sweet things to me like that!”

Spike shook his head, “Not what you deserve. Golden goddess, that’s what you are. Need a real vamp in your life.”

“You’re a vampire, too?” exclaimed Harmony. “No way!”

“Sure am,” said Spike. “Hell of a better one than peaches. I’d do right by you, y’know?”

Harmony beamed at him again.

“Here man,” said Eric, putting forty dollars in his hand, “I forfeit early. Think you two are made for each other.”

Harmony was too happy with her switch of partner to complain about being dumped.

The next day, Spike woke up with a head full of pain and a bed full of leggy blonde.

“Aw, damn,” he said to himself, as he tried to actively forget vivid dreams of a certain Slayer.


	2. Something Really Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Season Four's 'Something Blue'.  
> Pure smut.

“See? This is how it’s gonna be. Spike will even take care of you while I’m at the Magic Shop,” said Buffy, trying to comfort her ex-watcher, before standing up to return to her fiancé’s arms. “From now on, we’re a family,” she declared before locking lips with him once more.

Kissing Spike was fun. Buffy mentally kicked herself for not realizing before. Simultaneously, his hands and her mind wandered.

_I wonder what else might be fun to do_ , she mused as he grasped at her needily.

Hearing Giles fumble his way into the kitchen in search of more Scotch, Spike took his opportunity to whisk his Slayer upstairs without him noticing. On the way, he eyed his now discarded ropes lying on the floor and got a wicked idea for how to spend the evening when she returned.

_For now, though, we’ll just have a little taste_ , he thought, silently taking the stairs two at a time, holding Buffy against his chest; her arms locked around his neck and her hot breath against the cool skin of his cheek. _Can’t wait to really feel her heat on me_.

Having not been upstairs before, it took Spike a moment or two to find the spare bedroom; though, in fairness, he was distracted by Buffy nibbling on his earlobe. He roughly pushed her down on the bed and Buffy let out an involuntary yelp before clasping a hand over her mouth.

Spike grinned. “No need to keep it down, luv. Not like he can easily come searching for us.”

Buffy gave him a playful shove. “ _Really_ don’t want him to hear us. How awkward would that be?” she said, but her Vampire wasn’t listening. All his efforts focused on undoing both their belts.

Buffy moaned slightly in anticipation. “Should we be doing this?”

“No,” he answered, honestly. “Wanna stop?”

She pulled him on top of her. “Definitely not.”

Spike had released his cock from his pants and she could feel it straining against her. She’d never been so wet, and the aroma was driving him mad.

He pulled back a little and commanded her, “Take off your top. Bra too,” while he finished undressing her lower half. Obeying, she lay flat on her back as he moved down her body, positioning his head above her soaked underwear and looking up at the view of her bare breasts.

“Oh yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

Again she moaned just thinking about it.

He snapped off her panties and buried his face in her quim, making her buck against him. Spike smiled into her skin before parting his lips and sliding his wickedly masterful tongue inside her and out again, getting a shudder in response. Twirling around her clit a half dozen times, he went back to her opening and slid in again as she spasmed around him and dug her fingers into his hair.

“That, was… amazing,” she panted. “I’ve never, felt so much release.”

His grin expanded as she took a moment to get her breath back. When she did, Buffy pulled him up her body and pushed him over so she’d be on top.

“Your turn now.”

Spike was awestruck, having never expected her to be so forward. When she grasped him in her hot little hand his eyes automatically closed to try and savor the sensation.

“You’re gonna be the bloody end of me,” he said, which spurred her on to pump him faster. Harder. Before he knew it, he felt her lips gently glide over the head of his cock. His eyes flew open again.

“Minx!” he half shouted, before he yanked hard on her free arm and pulled her to his chest.

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “You don’t want me to…?” she began, but he put two fingers to her lips, halting the question, and told her to lick them, which she did.

Upon removing his moist digits from her mouth, he trailed them down to her clit and began circling around it until she lost all desire to question him.

“I wanna do this,” he said, “While you do that.”

“Oh!” Suddenly she remembered her task and began pumping again.

“Together, okay?” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. She was feeling very agreeable. “Together.”

Minutes later, they both fell over the edge into orgasm and Buffy found herself biting down on Spike’s neck to hold back her scream of pleasure.

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, as she retracted her teeth from his skin and mumbled, “You’re the wind beneath my wings,” into his shoulder.

He pushed her back a bit, so he could look in her eyes, “What was that, luv?”

“I said…uh,” her mind stumbled, realizing what she’d admitted out loud. “Wind Beneath my Wings. Y’know, the song? I think it’d be great for the wedding.”

“Oh.” He eyed her suspiciously for a moment then nodded his head. “Well, I have always liked that one.” He kissed her forehead and lay back down on the bed with a _plop_ , completely sated. For now.

\---

Hearing movement somewhere above him, Giles called out, “Buffy? Have you left yet?” unsure to exactly which direction he should be addressing the question.

“Oh, uh…” she mumbled, while wiping her mouth. “Yeah. I’m on my way!”

“Anytime today,” he groused.

Buffy pouted and whispered to Spike, “I really should go. To be continued?” before leaving a chaste kiss on his lips and pulling away for the final time to quickly pull her clothes back into place.

He growled a little at the sight of her leaving and the thought of how they could progress later. The noise made her look back over her shoulder and give him a wink and that gesture had him pawing at his groin again as she shut the door.

“Magic Box here I come,” she said to herself, on the other side, unable to stop smiling.

Later, when the spell had worn off and everyone was heading out, the Slayer confronted Spike about his 'Wind beneath my wings' reference. His self-preservation instincts told him that mocking her for the comment was cutting close to the line, but at the time he couldn't help himself.

Buffy made it clear that any other wisecracks that might alert her friends or watcher to what happened would result in him being staked, whether he was defenseless against her or not.

"Yes ma'am," he said.

"Good," she spat, before turning away from him, taking the ring he'd given her from off her finger and gently putting it in her pocket, for safekeeping.

Unbeknownst to her, Spike had a keepsake of his own in the form of her torn underwear.


	3. Unseen Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from 'Who Are You?'

Using Buffy’s body to tease Spike gave Faith a thrill like she’d never encountered before. She was saying all these things to wind him up but couldn’t help but get a little wound herself. Faith was controlling the words and the actions of the other Slayer, but it was him making her heart beat faster, no matter how much she willed it to shut up and slow down.

_Does B always have this reaction to sexy vamps?_ she wondered, _Or is it just this one in particular?_ The thought amused her and she was tempted to explore her curiosity. Spike was obviously up for it, which was also interesting. _Does this body always get him hot? Does Buffy know? Does_ she _get off on it? All excellent questions._

Once her mind started down that track, it was like a runaway train. The renegade Slayer had tacked ‘doing it with a bloodsucker’ onto the end of her mental bucket list not long after she heard about B and Angel. _Must be good having someone almost as strong,_ she reasoned. _Maybe Buffy’s so attracted to this guy ‘cause she knows how good it can feel doing the undead._

_Nah,_ she decided on the next breath as she pushed the temptation away. _The end of my bucket list is where that particular desire is gonna stay, because no doubt it’ll end up being the freaking_ cause _of me kicking the bucket. No way I’m trusting a vamp to get that close, chip or no. Only had this body a day, don’t wanna kill it that quick… even if it would be super fun._

Regardless of how firmly she had decided against it, the blood was still pumping hard and fast around her hijacked skin and it was getting more and more difficult to pull away from the cloud of lust falling around her. She needed to cut it out, and quickly. Just one final twist of the screws driving Spike crazy and she began backing away. The look on his face was priceless.

“I get this chip out, an’ you and me are gonna have a confrontation.”

“You can count on it,” she promised, stalking off toward the bar. There was the sound of breaking glass in the background but Faith ignored it. Now she was all het up, there was only one thing on her mind: finding someone to screw who was in no danger of attempting to murder her while she got her rocks off.

Just as she leaned across the counter – intentionally pushing out her meager chest – to speak her order directly into the barman’s ear, she felt someone tug her back by the arm.

Instinctively, she pushed them away before even looking to see who it was. Spike was in front of her again, steam practically coming out his ears. She was about to yell at him for grabbing her when the barman distracted her, asking what she wanted to drink. Spike told him to sod off before turning back to the Slayer.

“D’ya know what? I’m not sure I fancy waiting for that confrontation.”

“Well,” said Faith, “I would say bring it on, but aren’t you a little… disabled?”

That had him grabbing her arm again. Again she pushed him away – harder than before. “Back off, chip boy. Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

Her lust had dissipated, leaving her pure and simple pissed off.

“Right about that, Slayer,” he said, drawing himself in close to her once more, but not reaching out to touch again. “It’s _you_ I wanna hurt.”

“Tough words from someone who couldn’t do damage an itty bitty fly. Tell me, have you always had a death wish? Don’t think the fact that you’re incapacitated is gonna stop me from staking you good.”

He roared with laughter at that one, forcing Faith’s anger to move over and make way for her curiosity to peak again. “Wanna explain to me what’s so funny?”

“You,” he said, shaking his head. “You could never kill me in this state. What’s the use in empty threats?”

“Little rich coming from you,” she said, outwardly dismissing him, but she took his words on board.

_There’s no way he’d be playing with fire if he thought for a second she’d take his head off. Must be real sure of himself. No – sure of_ her _. But why wouldn’t she kill him? She knows he’s evil. Even if he can’t attack physically there are plenty of other ways to do a little damage, and yet here he is still walking around. Mercy can’t be all of it._

When she came out of her thoughts, he was still right up in her face, staring intently at her.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?”

Again she backed away. “Certainly not you, that’s for damn sure.”

He clenched his jaw but continued to stare at her. The silence built for a moment before she dared ask, in earnest, “Why d’you think I can’t do it?”

“You know why,” he said, with just as much sincerity.

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”

“Come off it, Slayer. I don’t know what game you’re trying to play. Acting all sexy and then acting dumb. You know bloody well there’s something – some _thing_ much bigger than both us – drawing us together. I can feel it and so can you. I’ve craved Slayers before, but that has nothing on you. And deny it all you want, but I know I get under your skin. Give you tingles that just isn’t the same as any other vamp. I can hate you, hunt you to the cows come home, and you can beat me to a bloody pulp – literally, in fact – but while there’s this thing in our systems driving each other nuts for the other? We’ve got ourselves a little piece of immunity from going the whole hog and finishing each other off.”

Faith knew he was right, and suddenly she was pissed again. This time on Buffy’s behalf – and _that_ was a new experience. “Don’t suppose I like being a puppet,” she said.

“Don’t reckon we have any choice,” he shot back. “Just don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, or God help me I’ll pay someone to finish you off and break your damn thrall once and for all, Slayer. I’m not joking about that.”

“Fine,” said Faith, hating herself for giving in. “No more hardball. Get out of here.”

He took that invitation – walking off without another word – and she watched him go with a stern look on her face.

_Now,_ _that encounter wasn’t nearly as fun._ Sitting down, she went over everything again in her head. _The Slayer has thrall over a Vampire? What the hell’s up with that? This body’s drawn to him so bad it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference who’s driving it._

A guy came over to her and asked her to dance.

“Sure,” she answered, following him to the floor, where she concluded silently: _If B ever gets her body back, I’ll leave her to figure out her little hard-on for vamp boy._

_Not. My. Problem._


	4. Battle of the Exes: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of Buffy and Riley's break up argument from 'Into the Woods', Season Five.

Buffy didn’t think her argument with Riley could get any worse until he said, “Part of me thinks – no. Part of me _knows_ – that some part of the reason you don’t feel enough for me is because you feel for someone else. Or some _thing_.”

Her mouth dropped open. There was no doubt in her mind about which person-thing he was talking about.

“What is with you two?” he asked, then went on to say, “Actually, no, I get what’s with him. What’s _your_ deal? That’s what I wanna know.”

Buffy blinked at him, not able to reply.

“You know, how you are with him,” he pressed.

She shook her head. “You’re not serious.”

“I paid him a visit today,” Riley continued casually.

Genuine fear flooded through her. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

Riley shook his head and turned away a little, though it was obviously a reaction to her words rather than an answer to them. “See!” he said, rounding on her again. “What is that?”

“What is _this_? Cryptic Clue? I have no idea what you’re–”

“Like I said, I get him following you around – as much as I hate it, I understand it – but what I _don’t_ understand is why you let him. Do you like it, is that it?”

Buffy took a moment to try and process all his semi-rhetorical questions. Taking a breath, she asked, “What is it you’re accusing me of? Not killing an innocent–”

Riley interrupted her with a mirthless laugh.

Another deep breath later, Buffy tried again. “Okay, not innocent, exactly. But harmless. You’re angry because I’m not getting rid of him? You know I can’t. It’s not right if he can’t defend himself.”

“No,” Riley shot back at her, “Don’t try to make this into a moral argument, there’s something more to it.”

Buffy’s fuse was nearing an end. “What has this got to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it!” he maintained.

“No, Riley. We’re talking about you cheating, in the _worst_ way. And you blaming me, and you leaving me!”

He clenched his fists. “I’m not the only guilty party here.”

She slapped him. “Don’t you dare try and imply that I went behind your back. With anyone, let alone Spike!”

“Buffy I’m not blind!” he yelled. “Maybe it hasn’t happened yet, but there is something building between you too and it’s kept you from me. It might as well be cheating.”

Buffy crossed her arms. “Tell me,” she said, in as calm a voice as she could muster. “Tell me what’s building between me and Spike. Because I’d like to know.”

“How can you pretend you’re not aware of it?” said Riley, but she was silent, awaiting her answer. “Fine, I’ll spell it out. He’s always around.” Buffy rolled her eyes, but he ignored her and plowed on. “You let him in your house. Let him around your family. Confide in him!”

She couldn’t deny that part, but he wasn’t done there. “What about that time you told me you were engaged and then laughed it all off as a big joke after? Joke or not, you can’t tell me it’s a coincidence that you picked his name to represent the groom. Well, actually, you can – and you did. Like an idiot I believed the worst cover story I think I’ve ever heard. But what really happened, Buffy?”

She sighed. “That was a spell.”

“Yeah. Magic. Of course,” he said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. “What about when you were giving him shelter, at Giles’ house, when you knew my team had been searching everywhere? You prioritized him over me.”

“The Spike situation and the you situation were completely unrelated. He–”

Riley threw up his hands and Buffy glared at him. “Gosh, are you gonna let me get through one explanation without interrupting? You’re the one wanted to talk and all I’m getting is half-crazy rants.”

“What’s the point letting you ‘ _explain_ ’?” he said. “I know I’m right about this.”

“You’re not. At all!” she insisted, somewhat thankful when he gave up arguing that particular point and instead refocused the conversation back on his own actions, even if he still was trying to defend them.


	5. Voicemail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at the end of 'Triangle.'

It had been a long day, what with Willow and Anya fighting, Troll fighting, and everything else. Dawn seemed to be upset about something and had talked Joyce into letting her stay at Janis’ house. After some initial reluctance and Dawn pointedly saying, “It’s not like I’m in any danger, right?” Buffy had agreed to let her go.

Giles had dropped her off on his way home and Xander would pick her up in the morning. Really, what _could_ go wrong? _It doesn’t count as a jinx if I only thought it, right?_ Buffy shook her head. _Maybe I should stop stressing so much. Things aren’t so bad, now that mom’s out of the woods._

Joyce had gone to bed pretty much as soon as Giles and Dawn had left. Buffy decided to follow her mom’s lead and start winding down. _Maybe I’ll just take a quick look around first._

Ever since the demon from the hospital had snuck in and tried to kill her mom in her sleep, Buffy had got in the habit of checking everything was safe and secure before going to bed.

All was well upstairs, but her scout of the living room revealed a tiny, red, blinking light. Buffy clicked the button to play the answering machine message and sank to her knees at the sound of his voice.

“Hi Buffy,” said Riley to the room.

_Why is he calling? Is it not hard enough?_

“You’re probably wondering why I’m calling…”

Buffy snorted and curled further into herself. She wondered if maybe he was going to say he was coming back and was surprised that the thought filled her with dread rather than hope.

“I probably shouldn’t be calling,” Riley continued. “And that’s not just ‘cause I’m supposed to be off the grid. I can’t tell you where I am and if you try and look up the number I’m calling from you’ll find it doesn’t exist.”

_Typical,_ thought Buffy. _He gets to say his final piece, but I have no way of answering._

“Anyway, I feel like I need to say this… There is no easy way to say this…”

“Gah! Will you just spit it out already!” she yelled at the phone.

“I guess I should just spit it out. Here it is: you should be wary of Spike.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. _What is his obsession with Spike? He keeps making all these ridiculous, vague little references, but never comes out and says what’s he’s getting at. He hates him, but he won’t say why. And it’s not just because he’s a vampire. That much is obvious._

“I know, I know,” said Riley, “You’re probably rolling your eyes and thinking I sound ridiculous…”

_Well, at least he knows me a little bit._

“…but hear me out. Buffy, this is important. I… I just think you should watch him. I think that he’s dangerous.”

Buffy almost choked on the air in her mouth. Dangerous? Spike? Maybe once upon a time, but Riley had made sure that wasn’t the case anymore.

“I think he’s obsessed with you.”

She shook her head again. _No matter how many times he says it, there’s just no way. I mean, sure, I’m a slayer and he’s kind of obsessed with slayers, but that’s more in a general sense. Plus, Spike doesn’t really do obsession. Devotion is more his thing. He was with Drusilla for, like, forever. I’d be lucky for a guy to ever like me that much and, whoa, okay, that thought’s going to a strange place real quick._

Buffy realized that Riley’s message was still rambling on in the background. She decided to at least let it get to the end, and then she’d delete it.

“I caught him in your house, Buffy.”

Her forehead furrowed. _Is he talking about the night of the Queller demon?_ She already knew Spike had been hanging about, then. _And it was a damn good thing he was!_

“Not long before I left. He was... well, I don’t actually know what he was doing, but he had your sweater. I think maybe he was sniffing it?”

_What? Okay, now it’s official. Riley’s gone insane. Again._

“I hate that I had to leave you alone with him.”

“That’s the part you hate? You didn’t have to do anything, you stupid jerk!”

She knew yelling at the machine was stupid, and pointless, and likely to wake her mother up, but Buffy couldn’t help it. Riley’s message was pissing her off big time. She got to her feet and stood, towering over the machine – hands on hips. _It’s just like Angel all over again. The guys leave, but they can’t stop interfering._

“Anyway, I thought I’d give you a heads up,” Riley concluded. “Goodbye, Buffy.”

She now stared at the offending device. _That’s it? He doesn’t idly wonder how I am, or say that he misses me? That he wishes things could be different? Just some bull about Spike?_ Buffy punched the delete button with her finger so hard that it cracked.

“Buffy, is that you?” Joyce called from upstairs. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Mom! Don’t worry, go back to bed.”

“Alright dear, if you’re sure. Just don’t forget about getting some rest yourself.”

“Goodnight,” she called from the foot of the stairs, before watching Joyce’s bedroom door close again.

_Y’know what?_ Buffy said to herself, _Mom’s right. I deserve a break. I’m gonna make myself a hot cocoa and go to bed. Ohh! I wonder if we have any of those little marshmallows!_


	6. Battle of the Exes: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene set at the end of 'Crush.'

Spike returned to his crypt utterly dejected. He thought about how Cecily Underwood turning him down had once felt like the worst pain in the world, and how it had been quickly superseded by the agony of betrayal at Angelus shagging Drusilla right under his nose. Now he laughed bitterly to himself. “Didn’t really know pain and suffering until I met her.”

_Her_ meaning Buffy, of course.

When the Slayer told him he was beneath her – something he didn’t necessarily disagree with – it stung a million times more than his Victorian crush. When she’d pushed him away, and left him to cry like it was nothing, he felt truly worthless. But even that feeling was overshadowed by not only her uninviting him from her home – her _life_ – but the look that went along with it. That look would kill him, he was sure, if he mused on it long enough.

“Ol’ Jack the order of the day,” he spoke again to himself, the words half stifling a sob.

He’d reached his crypt just as the tears began again and was so caught up in resenting them that he hadn’t noticed Drusilla standing there. The Vampire wasn’t aware of his Sire at all until she reached out in faux comfort and whispered, “It’s not right for my prince to cry.”

As soon as her fingertips grazed his shoulder he instinctively pulled away and told her in no uncertain terms to, “Sod off.”

“But why do you push me away?” she asked, all innocence, before raising her voice to add, “I made you!”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “Thanks for that, bitch.”

Drusilla looked cut to the bone at the remark, but only for a moment. “You sneer at the life I gave you?”

“You call this life?” he retorted, moving around her to reach for the bottle of whisky and then deciding to smash it instead of drinking its contents. “I should kill you for what you’ve done.”

“You never could,” she countered, and his shoulders slumped. Of course he couldn’t. No more than he could kill Buffy or the lil bit.

“Bloody pathetic,” he mumbled.

“You need to shake off your harness,” Dru told him. “Let me kill it. Let me kill her, Spike, and you’ll be free.”

That was it. Rage took him over completely at the mere suggestion that she’d hurt the Slayer. He grabbed Drusilla by her hair – almost ripping it out by the root – and dragged her to himself where he spoke directly into her face.

“If you ever go after her,” he spat, “If you even try–”

Dru laughed. “You’ll do what?”

“I… I’ll –” he gripped her tighter, until she winced, and then a thought came to mind. “I’ll stake your precious Angel.”

“No!” she howled, slapping at him as if he’d already made good on the threat.

“You don’t hurt her,” Spike stated, “And I’ll leave the great ponce alone.”

“Such a disgrace, you are,” said Drusilla. She didn’t have to agree to his terms. He knew she wouldn’t risk going against him on it; that he wasn’t lying.

“Don’t rightly care,” he replied, shoving her away again.

“Shouldn’t do it to yourself,” she whined. “Not the fun kind of torment.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna get out now, or do you wanna piss me off some more?”

“How did she catch you?” Dru asked, ignoring his question.

Spike grit his teeth and didn’t reply.

“Saw you falling, I did, but I could never see why.”

“She’s light,” he said, on the next breath. “She’s light, and I’m drawn to it. Can’t pull away.”

“No,” Dru agreed, with an exaggerated bobbing of her head. “Does she know what you did?” The bob turned into a shake before he could reply. “You wouldn’t tell her, oh no. Bad Spike wouldn’t admit to it. But did she find out? Did birdies whisper in her ear?”

“What the bloody hell are you on about, Dru?”

“Our kind you killed, so they wouldn’t go after her; so you could have the fight all to yourself.”

“Fight other vamps ‘cause of the chip,” said Spike. “Gotta get my violence somewhere.”

“Before that,” said Dru. “I saw. You protected her.”

“Shut up!”

“You did. You protected her from lots of little beasties, but you’ll never get credit if she doesn’t know.”

“I know she’ll never feel the same,” Spike admitted. “I know what I do won’t matter.”

Drusilla smiled at that – one of her knowing smiles. That made him uneasy. He told himself it was his imagination, that she couldn’t possibly see anything in his future and be hinting at it with her eyes. He looked away, so as to not get lost in those eyes; get carried away in the hope they held for him and his Slayer.

“Please, just go,” he said to the ground. There was no response, which surprised him. When he looked up again, he saw she had finally listened to him. His Sire was gone, and he’d never see her again.

Slowly, he blew out a sigh and turned back to his fridge for another drink.


	7. Squeeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another missing scene from 'Crush.'   
> Buffy's point of view this time.

Buffy had gone to Spike’s crypt to talk to him – adult to adult – about his supposed feelings for her. She expected excuses. She expected him to deny all knowledge. She expected further declarations of admiration. She _hadn’t_ expected to find a shrine to herself, made out of things he’d stolen from her house. In shock, she took herself away, back up the ladder to ground level, out the door and back home. That was the plan, at least…

As she reached the top of the ladder, her eyes met his. He was crouched there, waiting for her. “See anything interesting?”

“Spike, I… what, what happened?” she stammered, still perched on the top rung.

Silently, he offered her his hand, helping her the rest of the way up. She took it automatically, but when they were both standing upright, face to face, he still hadn’t let go. Buffy shook her head, trying to clear the fog that had overcome her ability to think. It didn’t work. She was lost – trying to read his face – but when he spoke again she snapped right out of it, snatching her hand back and taking a couple of steps back.

“What did you say?”

“That I probably have some explaining to do.”

“That’s putting it mildly!” she spat – her brain was fully in gear by that point, but things still didn’t make sense. “What the hell is all that stuff down there?”

“Right, yeah,” he said, looking bashful and avoiding her gaze. “Thing is–”

“Save it,” she said, cutting him off. “You can’t just dump your feelings on me, expect me to deal with them there and then, and then drop the further bombshell that you’ve been, what? Stalking me these past few months? Years?!”

That got him looking at her again, on the defensive. “Hey! I wasn’t gonna drop a single feeling on you. You’re the one that pushed it. Shouldn’t ask questions if you’re not ready to hear the answers to them, Betty.”

She glared at him before taking a deep breath. “Do you _seriously_ think pissing me off is the best thing to do right now?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Rhetorical,” she said. “Look. I don’t like it, but can we just sit down and talk about all this? Clear the air, and _try_ to be civil?”

“What? Your mum tell you to break it to me gently?”

“ _Spike!_ ” she warned.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be good,” he said, holding up his hands in defeat before gesturing for Buffy to sit down. When he sat opposite her, the awkwardness compacted. He would look at her then look away. She’d do the same, accidentally catching his eye each time.

“God, I can’t do this!” she said eventually, taking to her feet once more. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hey,” he said again, “Civility, remember?”

“Spike, you have a freaking desk filled with my junk not two feet from your bed. You can’t tell me that’s not weird!”

“Being undead kinda redefines what’s weird and what’s not, pet.”

“Don’t call me pet. You’re a stalker. An undead one-hundred-year-old stalker, and why am I even having this conversation?”

“Actually, it’s one-hundred-and-twenty–”

“Not helping,” said Buffy.

He sighed. “What do you want from me? There’s not much I can say in my defense, except you make me crazy and having spent the last century doing a whole pile of weird shit with a loony bin I sometimes fail to think through what’s appropriate.”

He had a point there, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it. In absence of a verbal response, he carried on talking. “I’m sorry, okay? You were never meant to see that.”

Her glare returned and he began to backpedal. “I’m not saying that makes it alright. I’ve already admitted I don’t have a defense, remember? I’m just saying, I never meant to creep you out, and I woulda got rid of it, eventually. I was being stupid, it’s just...”

“Just what?” she prompted, annoyed with herself for softening so easily.

“It’s just I think about you all the time, and I don’t exactly have friends to offload on. Got no one around to tell me when I’m being an idiot, so it takes me a little while to figure it out on my own. And God help me Buffy but I really am love’s bitch and there’s not a thing I can do to stop it. I understand if you want me to stay away for a bit – to process, that’s what you said, right? That you need time? I can give you time, just know that I mean it. I love you and I’m sorry. How can–”

“Stop talking,” she said, gently. “I get it, kinda. You went a bit crazy. You acted stupid, this is nothing new. I’m not saying I return your feelings, or that I ever will, but if you do fix this – get rid of that stuff and speak to me, like you just did? I think I might be okay with you kissing me now.”

“What? Buffy, I–”

“Stop,” she repeated. “No talking, just kissing. Okay?”

He took her into his arms in response, kissing her passionately like she’d never been kissed before. She felt floaty, complete with butterflies in her stomach. Then he lifted her up, into his arms, and took her back down the ladder to his bedroom.

She woke up with a jolt and swore at her empty room. “Damn it! It ended before getting to the good part _again_. Stupid Vampire.”


	8. Requirements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from 'I Was Made to Love You'

Alongside the numerous photos Spike supplied of Buffy for Warren to model the robot version of her on, he provided a list of explicit instructions of how she should be, what she should do, and how she should do it. He’d been up all night constructing it, but it hadn’t quite been the enjoyable task he first envisioned.

Daydreams, it turned out, had a nasty habit of reminding you exactly what you didn’t have at the same time as showing you what you want. Nevertheless, he wrote.

_I want her to be just like Buffy._ No, too vague. He scribbled that bit out and amended it. _Make her as close to the real Buffy as you can – physically, verbally, and whatnot. Be thorough._

Spike paused. Was he really going through with this? The whole thing could end up terribly counterproductive if the real Buffy found out and staked his ass. Worse than that, she’d probably be upset, and he genuinely didn’t want that. He wanted her to be happy but, more than that, he just plain wanted her. This reminder of his more selfish wants and needs strengthened his resolve to carry on with the list.

_Make her lips soft and have her hair be the right color. It has to be really soft, too. I mean_ really _soft. Are you able to recreate her scent? …actually, nevermind about that._ It was a nice idea – he could happily drown in that scent – but he knew it would probably take a long while to cultivate, and he didn’t want to wait. Plus, it’d probably be too hard to get right, and it would wear off quickly enough if his plans for the bot panned out.

His plans. Spike’s cock twitched at the thought of all he could do, but he ignored it for the time being. He needed to focus.

_Make sure she doesn’t smell all synthetic_ , he wrote. That would do.

Next, he toyed with the idea of including the fact that she had a scar on her neck. Wanting her to be as realistic as possible was one thing, but there was no need to torture himself with a constant reminder that Angel had marked her. Then again… he noted the mark, then scratched it out again. He needed Bourbon for this.

After pacing around his crypt for a bit, fetching the drink and swallowing it down, Spike decided to move on from the physical characteristics for a bit. He wrote down some basic facts about Buffy’s friends and family, just because it seemed right to have the robot know them. Then he got a little carried away and started penning a few quips for her, some more suggestive than others.

At that, a thought struck him. _Don’t have her say any of the colorful things to anyone but me, right? And don’t take soddin’ liberties. If I find you’ve been playing with her – and I would be able to tell – I’ll skin you alive. Have her destroy any other tosser who tries touch her._

Was that threatening enough? He hoped so. Spike was living purely off the threat of violence now, never mind the act. Wait a minute… _I want her to have battle skills, and I want her to fight me._ God, it had been forever since he had a decent fight. _Teach her how to use the standard weapons – stake, crossbow, sword – and give her the arty moves to go with. I’m talkin’ cartwheels and everything._

Spike paused again. What he really wanted to do was write out long fantasy scenarios, but he didn’t really fancy having Warren bloody Mears read them, or risking the chance of the documents falling into the wrong hands when he was done. That kinda stuff was prime blackmail material.

_Make her waterproof_ , he wrote. There had to be vague ways he could say what he wanted that would still leave enough room to deny potentially sinister interpretations down the road, right? Who was he kidding? He poured more Bourbon and continued, best he could. _Make her sturdy, too._

It wasn’t just the sex fantasies he wanted to request. There were a million things he wanted to write – that she should laugh and have fun, enjoy his company and talk to him, hold proper conversations and care about his opinions – but he could no less write that than the explicit stuff. Well, maybe he could request conversations. But it wasn’t right; wasn’t enough.

Another sip of Bourbon and Spike pushed the sheet of paper aside to reach for his battered old journal instead. Inside that he scribed, _I just want her to love me – the real her – mind, body, and bloody soul._

_I’m a sick bastard._


	9. Joyce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing Scene set between 'The Body' and 'Forever.'
> 
> Spike’s reaction when he heard the news.

Pride dented and still sporting a limp from April the robot superbint, Spike sat himself down in an empty corner booth at Willy’s and waited for the bartender to come to him. He wasn’t in the mood for sitting at the bar, dealing with other people, or… anything, really.

The plan was simple: drink, get drunk, be drunk, stop thinking. And stop bloody caring! He was a Vampire; creature of the night. Why in the bloody fuck did it bother him so much that everyone got their knickers in a twist about his feelings for Buffy? The look Dawn had given him… he shook his head, hating himself for having the urge to cry.

Spike wasn’t built to be alone. He knew it. But, god, why did it have to be that way? It was a cruel twist of fate. Maybe, given what he was – everything he’d done – he deserved the torture of needing someone else while being so utterly, wretchedly alone.

Some demons came into the bar, their voices as loud as Spike’s thoughts, and he didn’t know if he was grateful for the distraction or hateful of the noise. Noticing an empty beer bottle sitting discarded, nearby, he palmed it just in case the murderous feelings didn’t subside and he needed to brain one of them.

A name caught his attention, cutting through the rest of the mangled voices of conversation. Spike leant forward, paying closer attention. They said the Slayer was vulnerable. That her mum had died.

Spike stopped breathing. The bottle in his hand smashed without him meaning to and blood leaked down his arm as the shards tore the skin of his wrist and hand.

Joyce, gone. Could it really be true? He remembered back to that night, on Buffy’s back porch; her crying.

Cancer. It must have been.

Spike closed his eyes, his own tears starting to leak and mix with the blood. Willy came over to him eventually, a worried expression on his face, but Spike dismissed him with a look. Before retreating, he snatched the cloth the bartender had slung over his shoulder.

Hand poorly wrapped, Spike walked in a daze over to the Espresso Pump.

Sitting in the corner of that place, the tears returned with a vengeance. He couldn’t drink the cocoa. The shop girl said there weren’t any more marshmallows.


	10. Token

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene from 'Forever.'

The morning of the funeral, Buffy found flowers on her porch. Immediately they brought tears to her eyes. Such a small thing made everything better, and everything worse.

Flowers.

It had all started with goddamn flowers.

Her mom had been lying there, dead, and Buffy had been smelling her flowers.

She scrunched up her nose as she tried to remember. Remembering was hard, but… flowers from who? What was his name – Brian? Had anyone told Brian he wouldn’t get another date? Had someone notified him of Joyce’s death, and would he come to the funeral?

_See you soon (?)_ – that’s what he wrote. It seemed like a sick joke, now.

Buffy sank to her knees, sobbing as she clutched the small bouquet of wildflowers to her chest. She guessed they’d been placed there the night before, and no doubt lay in her mind over who had done it. They had wilted in the heat of the morning sun. That seemed appropriate.

Another memory. Vague awareness of a confrontation outside the front door that she had ignored, at the time. Buffy felt that she should have been mad at Spike, but she wasn’t. Her mother was a great lady. Wasn’t it appropriate that even evil demons thought so?

Despite being crispy in some places and limp in others, the flowers gave off a strong fragrance. When she’d collected herself, Buffy took them back into the house. Pushing aside the large displays that were expertly arranged, Buffy put the new bunch at the forefront – pride of place.

Over the coming weeks, the others were thrown out but Spike’s had dried quite well in the California heat. Being without water, they were preserved.

At some point they ended up in her bedroom, laid on top of her dresser.

When Dawn asked about them, all Buffy said was, “They’re a token.”

“Of what?” Dawn pressed.

Buffy had sighed, not really sure of the answer. To her they exemplified the mortal coil – temporary, yet everlasting. She couldn’t put any of that into words, though. Finally she answered, “Just a token.”


	11. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing Scene set between ‘Forever’ and ‘Intervention.’

He hadn’t meant to bump into her, knowing full well that his tendency to make her feel worse wasn’t abating, especially after his mangled attempt at professing his feelings. No. Making her feel bad was something he _really_ didn’t want to do, so he’d been avoiding potential run-ins. His gut was already in pain for her. Joyce’s death hit a little too close to home for him, and he knew how much Buffy would be cut up. Regardless of all that, though, she was on patrol, and he found himself in her way.

After lending an unnecessary hand to the dusting of other vamps, Spike watched Buffy amble over to sit down and rest atop a tombstone.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d think you were after a chat.”

The Slayer shrugged and looked at him, implicitly asking if he was offering one. Not one to look gift horses in the mouth, he sat on the stone beside hers and asked the first question that entered his head: “Did Angel help?”

Again she shrugged, and he cursed himself, but eventually she answered, “He helped, for a little while.” Her voice sounded so small, and delicate, and he hated it. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t _her_.

She continued saying, “In the end, he never stays. It never helps then.”

“I’m sorry, luv,” he said sincerely. The great git never was one for walking out of people’s lives having made them easier.

"I know," replied Buffy. And after the moment of acceptance followed a brief window into her grief, in which Spike thought she might actually burst into tears. If she'd been on top of her game, she'd have thrown an insult at him instead. 

“Dawn tried a spell,” she told him, with a tortured look on her face. “She tried to bring mom back, and I knew it was stupid, and wrong, and wouldn’t work–” she choked out a single sob. “Knew it wouldn’t really be Mom. But, for one second, I thought I’d get her back. It just made the whole thing worse.”

Spike was racked with guilt at hearing that. There it was: further confirmation that anything he did to try and help only ever backfired. Not knowing what to say, he stayed silent, and the Slayer surprised him by switching the topic suddenly.

“I’ve been cutting people off,” she said. That threw him. Spike hadn’t the slightest idea where it had come from until she explained, “I pushed Dawn away, to make it easier to handle the practical things. Before that, though… After Angel, I think I kind of shut down. But, really? I’m so scared of being alone.”

Looking over at her, intently, he could see she was almost on the verge of tears again.

“I know I’m not the person you want around…” he said, “But, Buffy, if you need anything. You know I’ll try my best, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then she stood up and went to continue her patrol, only briefly looking back over her shoulder to say, “Thanks.”

Clem came out of the shadows, then, and laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“Was that the Slayer?” he asked, redundantly.

“Yeah.” Spike hung his head, trying to process what she’d told him.

“Well, good,” said the demon, “It’s nice that she can turn to you.”

Spike shook his head. “She can’t. I only ever bugger stuff up but… Clem, I can’t walk away from her.”

“So, what’re you gonna do?”

He didn’t answer directly, just muttered to himself, “She needs someone? Well, so do I. Jus’ can’t be her… Not for her sake. Gotta just wait for my alternative.”

Clem nodded, clearly not having the first clue what Spike was making reference to. It was the next day that Spike picked up his robot.


	12. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from 'Spiral.'

For the second time in two days, Buffy was knocking on Spike’s door asking – no, practically _begging_ him – for help. Not that begging was necessary. Ever since he had risked his life and limb to keep her and Dawn safe, she had no doubt he’d do anything for her. It was such a change from her kicking the door in and beating him to a pulp herself. _What a difference a couple of weeks make._

When he finally came to the door, he was shirtless and his hair was messed up.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to hide her awkward enjoyment of the view. “Didn’t mean to wake you… your bruises have healed well.”

He smirked. “Bet you didn’t come here to discuss my pretty face.”

“Right.” She stepped around him. “Got any alcohol?”

His eyes flickered and head cocked to the side. “That bad huh?”

She nodded, deflating into his armchair. “That bad. That really, really bad. We have to run away together.”

He paused in his approach to the makeshift bar and turned back to look at her, scarred eyebrow raised.

“I need to take Dawn to safety,” explained Buffy. “She can’t stay here, we’ll all get killed.”

His hands went to his pockets. “When we setting off?”

She looked at him intently, once more amazed at his willingness to help her.

“Buffy?” he prompted.

“I told the guys they had an hour,” she said, looking down at her watch. “That was twenty minutes ago.”

His heart sank but he shrugged it off best he could. “Everyone’s coming?”

“To leave them is to leave them in danger,” said Buffy.

He knew she was right and couldn’t argue with her instinct to protect, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “You, me, and the niblet in a sports car could get further faster.”

“No. More. Danger!” she snapped. “For anyone!”

He stopped pushing; just propped himself against the sarcophagus in the center of the room and waited. After a beat, Buffy’s tone softened once more.

“It’s not that I’m not tempted. Right now, your plan sounds pretty good, but I can’t leave them. Tara’s already got hurt, and you… you already made your sacrifice. God, I have some nerve even asking you for anything else.”

“Buffy,” he said, equally gently, but looking away from her. “I’d do it again, in a heartbeat – even if I don’t happen to have one. I love you.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he dared to glance up again. “Thank you what you did with Glory, for still wanting to help, for helping me realize Willow was in danger yesterday, and for what you said to Dawn.”

He looked almost bashful. “Told you that, did she?”

“Yeah,” affirmed Buffy. “She said you were very sweet.” Just when they risked falling back into silence, she asked, “Why don’t I see that side of you more often?”

He shifted a little before puffing out his chest. “Macho male pride?”

“Ha, yeah, that must be it. Whatever it is, though, I… I think I’d like to see more of it. You’re sweet side, I mean. And who knows, maybe one day you’d get more than your crumb.” She blushed, hardly believing she admitted that out loud.

He beamed. “Been meaning to thank you for the crumb. That kiss, Buffy… it meant a lot.”

“I know,” she said, the words an almost-whisper, before bracing herself once more. “I know, but we have bigger things to deal with right now.”

They stood up, signaling the end of their heart to heart.

“Back to work. I need you to steal a van. Big enough for all of us.”

“Slight issue with that,” he said, pointing towards the door. “It’s kinda deadly for me out there right now.”

Buffy frowned. “We can’t wait until nightfall.”

“Won’t need to,” he said. “I know the perfect place you can pick one up. Can talk you through the basics of hotwiring, an’ even give you some nice shiny aluminum foil to vamp-proof the widows of the Winnebago.”

Her frown deepened. “I might be okay with you stealing, under _certain_ circumstances, but to do it myself? Whole different moral dilemma.”

“Now’s not really the time for moral dilemmas, pet.”

“I know,” she said, reconsidering her options. “Can I at least pretend you forced me into it?”

There was that grin again. “Sure thing.”


	13. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from ‘After Life’ (following Spike’s “Every night I save you” speech).

He gave her the speech. He had to. The words had been building up in him – playing on his mind – ever since the night she came back. There was a part of him that had wanted to kneel at her feet when he first saw her face again and beg for forgiveness right then and there, but he’d pushed the urge down, knowing that it wouldn’t have helped her.

God! How he’d have done anything to help her. Or, at least, not make things worse. When she came to his crypt of her own free will, he couldn’t stop himself anymore. Spike felt that if he didn’t apologize, he might burst, and he half wondered if an explanation was what she’d come for.

So he put the words out there and the burden was gone, but it didn’t make him feel better. All those hours of crafting the sentences were wasted. His words didn’t change anything.

He hated himself for his inadequacies.

Buffy said nothing in response. There was nothing more _to_ say – for either of them. He’d delivered his piece and she’d accepted it. Or, at least, she hadn’t rejected it. Didn’t seem to react one way or the other, in fact. Hadn’t really opened her mouth at all, except to point out his bleeding hand, but Spike reckoned that was understandable and let it slide. Silently resolving never to mention it again, he waited for her to make the next move.

Nothing came. Not for a long while.

The silence was oddly comfortable. Eventually, it was broken by a sound caught somewhere between a whimper and a sniffle. A single tear ran down Buffy’s cheek to accompany the sound but she didn’t seem to notice it. Spike had enough intuition to realize it was likely something else that had been building and hadn’t been able to be released before.

She couldn’t cry in front of her friends. That realization made him ache but it was eased somewhat by the knowledge that she could show herself to him. Knowledge was a funny thing; it could damn you and bless you in a single swoop.

He could give her nothing in that moment beyond simply being there. That’s what he knew.

Buffy knew he expected nothing from her. For that, she was beyond grateful. When her Vampire spoke again, to ask if he could walk her home, she gave the briefest nod.

He was torn for her in a million ways: so happy that she’d let him take her home, so sad that’d she’d be leaving him; joyful she walked the planet at all, and in agony that simply existing caused her so much grief.

The walk was just as quiet, despite the maelstrom. Maybe it was good just to be moving. Buffy walked so slow that Spike was tempted to think she was dragging it out on purpose. Which, he supposed, she was. But was it for his company, or just because the other option sucked more? He didn’t know. The unknowns were stacking up, and with each one he got a glimpse into the dark void that had overtaken his Slayer.

She gave him another brief nod when she reached the door, disappearing inside.

“I love you,” he whispered into the darkness.

While, on the other side, Buffy slumped against a wall, demanding of herself a logical reason why Spike was the only one she could turn to. She drew a blank. There were reasons, they just didn’t seem so logical.

_He loves me. He loves me and I can give him nothing._


	14. Going for a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from 'Life Serial.'

Spike reckoned Buffy must have got her wires crossed. The day from hell? Hardly! It was a bloody miracle when she swung open the door of his crypt earlier that evening with nothing on her mind but to rant and to drink.

Did she have any idea what it meant to him just to have her there, sitting with him? He sighed, knowing in his shriveled heart the answer was no. He loved the chit, but she was bloody clueless.

But then – _THEN!_ \- miracle upon miracle, she actually listened to what he had to say _and_ took his advice. She hopped on his motorcycle behind him and headed out to the mean streets like it was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe things didn’t quite go so well at the demon bar he’d taken her to, but things were pretty damn great besides that. He was worried that maybe she was already too sozzled to stay on the bike, but there wasn’t any need. He’d certainly never doubt her grip again.

Spike was actually half convinced he’d find bruises from the indents of her fingers on his flesh in the morning. More than that, he wished for them. Evidence that she’d touched him, even if it was through heavy fabric and leather.

Upon finding out just how tightly she could hold on, Spike pushed the speed higher. And already he’d been going fast, trying to impress her. The downside of this, however, was that it was all going to be over too soon.

A couple of blocks from the club, Spike realized the journey was much too short – too quick – so he did a few laps and circuited the back roads to draw it out. He was certain Buffy hadn’t noticed.

She was glued so tightly to his back, he could feel the hammer of her heart reverberate inside his own chest. And wasn’t that a heady sensation? He didn’t have to worry about her being scared of the speed, having learned many years ago to distinguish the subtle differences fear and pleasure had on the circulatory system.

Spike wished it could have lasted forever – that they could have rode out of town and never returned to either of their worries or past failures. Part of him was tempted to just do it: head for the border right then and there. He didn’t think Buffy would mind. Not at first but they’d both miss Dawn, soon enough.

Eventually, and with no small sense of loss, he pulled into a space at the back of the bar and dismounted. There was a vague awkward moment when Buffy got off. He tried to help her, she tried to do it all by herself, and somehow they ended up holding each other for just the briefest of moments.

Spike shook his head just thinking about it. It was probably one of the best evenings he’d ever had.

\---

Buffy considered that maybe her day wasn’t as bad as it first seemed. Giles helping her out with money was a huge relief, but even before that things were looking up.

She had needed to unload. Let loose. And she had. Going out with Spike had actually been the most carefree thing she’d done in so long.

Surprising fact of the day? He wasn’t actually bad company. But she’d started to suspect that before now, and Dawn had been saying it for ages.

Dawn.

Buffy might have asked Spike to run away with her tonight if it hadn’t been for the responsibility of her sister. Somehow, the slaying didn’t even feel like much of a thing keeping her in Sunnydale anymore. It had now been conclusively proven that the Hellmouth could live without her.

And when she died – again, for good – someday, it would. But all those thoughts felt too heavy in Buffy’s head, so she shook them away, instantly regretting the action. If her head hurt this much now, she could only imagine how bad it would be in the morning when the hangover really kicked in.

She sighed. It was totally worth it.

When she’d been on the bike with Spike, she’d loved it. She didn’t even care that he was driving in circles. And Buffy didn’t have to hide her pleasure, or force herself not to hold on to him too much, because she could always use alcohol as an excuse.

Unashamedly, she’d rested her head between his shoulder blades and taken deep breaths of his distinctive smell: leather, smoke, whiskey, and motor oil. It sounded dirty, and like it shouldn’t smell good, but it did on him. Maybe it was because he couldn’t sweat and it wasn’t tainted but, whatever the reason, Buffy loved it; couldn’t get enough of it.

She’d once thought him crazy for stealing her shirts and sniffing them – yeah, Riley had told her about that – but now she understood. Lying in her bed, unable to sleep, as rapt as she was in thoughts of Spike; Buffy idly wondered if she could get away with stealing one of his shirts.

No. Not stealing. Borrowing. Taking, temporarily, for… research. Getting to know her enemy better or, okay, even to herself it sounded like a lame excuse.

Buffy shook her head again at her wayward thoughts. Clearly she’d spent so much time with Spike that his crazy logic had rubbed off on her. Still, she considered a second time, it was totally worth it.

Time spent away from everything had kinda made things okay again, for a little while.

Maybe she’d go and see him again tomorrow.


	15. Where We Go From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing Scene from 'Tabula Rasa.'

He approached her with an open, questioning look. Without a word, Spike was begging for a small chunk of her company, and she couldn’t bear it. His emotions ran too close to the surface and they tempted her own to follow suit, which ultimately caused her to retreat in fear.

She turned away but regretted it instantly. Even with her back to him she could feel his hurt and rejection in waves and was overwhelmed with an urgency to stop him in his retreat back to the shadows.

“Wait!” she called out, without turning to face him again. Buffy couldn’t allow herself to see him – to look in his eyes – as she asked of him what no one else was willing or able to grant her.

Choking back a sob, she threw out the words: “Please don’t leave me.”

If he was really the evil creature she kept insisting him to be, yet knew full well he wasn’t, Spike would have pounced on her insecurity in that moment, calling her out on her mood swings and mixed signals. But, of course, he didn’t.

Glancing down at her empty glass, he ordered her another. Then, when he passed it over, she took hold of his hand and finally looked in his eyes again, her own full of unshed tears. Not dropping her hand but letting it hang loose, so she had full control of when their palms broke contact, he sat down on the stool beside her. Neither said a word for some time, but eventually the Slayer did let go of him and begin to sip her drink.

Even his presence made her feel better. She felt wrong for that realization. Wrong, but also thankful, and curious. There was definite curiosity – to see how well he really could help take her mind off things. And, with that thought, Buffy’s self-loathing came full circle. She concluded she didn’t deserve Spike or his attentions. There was no way she was going to tell him that, though.

“Want a third?” Spike asked, shaking her out of her reverie enough to notice her glass was empty again.

“No,” she replied. “I should… Let’s go.”

“Let’s–?” he began to repeat in confusion. Was she asking him to go with her? No, he thought, that couldn’t be right. But she was tugging his hand again and he couldn’t help but follow. Ever the eager puppy, he cursed himself for being so willing to please when all he ever got was kicked for it. Spike knew full well that whatever openness Buffy treated him to that night he’d have to sorely pay for the next day but, like a moth to a deadly flame, he only drew closer.

Before he knew it, she’d stopped under the staircase and was stood there, with her back to the supporting pillar, looking at him. There was no question what she wanted in that moment. He leaned in to deliver the kiss but left the final inch of air separating their mouths for _her_ to cross, as he’d done, outside, the previous week. She closed the gap and closed her eyes; drank him in and got lost in the experience.

It could have lasted for a minute or an hour, she wasn’t sure but, at some point during their heated embrace, Buffy realized it would have to end at some point. That knowledge made her furious. She kissed harder. More urgently.

Spike met her lips with equal fervor and intensity, just like she knew he would. Of everything in her crazy world, he was the only thing she was sure of. And there was the truth of it, again, hitting her in the face: she didn’t deserve him. And, so, she pushed him away, leaving without another word or backward glance.


	16. Getting Intimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scenes set between 'Wrecked' and 'Gone' explaining how Spike's lighter came to be behind the couch cushions in Buffy's living room and the origins of the sexy flashbacks in 'Dead Things.'
> 
> This one's pretty explicit.

Buffy was tossing and turning in bed, still unsettled because of what happened to Dawn and how it could have been so much worse. Spike had been keeping an eye on her.

A very close eye.

She knew he was there, in the shadows, when she got under the covers but hadn’t cared. It’d been a long day and she was tired – exhausted, physically and emotionally – having not got any sleep the night before. She knew he couldn’t resist joining her, and that in the morning she’d regret not throwing him out, but it wasn’t morning yet.

When he called out to her, saying “It’s all right now, luv,” and gently pulled her back towards his bare chest, it was too tempting to not get lost in him.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder; kissing her mouth and making all her worries fade away, like they were nothing. Like only he could do.

Feeling him hard against her, she moved on top of him as he slid her tank top over her head, then slipped one hand between their bodies to undo the drawstring of Buffy’s pajama pants. She let out a little moan as his other hand took a firm grasp of her breast.

“If we’re quiet, they’ll never know,” he continued.

“Yes,” she agreed, ever so softly, kissing him again.

Tonight was a slow dance and Spike was leading. Rolling Buffy back so he could be on top, he put his lips to her neck and suckled the tender skin there before tracing the line of her collarbone to her chest using his tongue. Once more she moaned, which spurred him on to taste her nipples; giving attention to the left first, then the right, before continuing his journey of exploration on down her body.

Buffy was wet in anticipation.

When Spike’s head was level with her navel, he gave a tug on her pants, pulling them off in one go. They’d barely hit the ground by the time his hands were back at her legs, firmly pushing them apart to allow him access.

Buffy hooked one arm under her pillow as her other found its way to Spike’s hair, tousling it as he administered the first lick that sent a shockwave of pleasure throughout her. Further licks to her entrance were accompanied by Spike’s thumb on her clit, massaging it in rhythm. Her climax didn’t take long, but he wasn’t done yet.

Climbing back up the bed, to be face to face, Spike stared down at blissful Buffy lying with her eyes closed.

“You want me inside, eh kitten?”

She responded with a slight nod. Normally, he wouldn’t be satisfied with just that – he always wanted her to say it out loud – but tonight the focus was on giving her what she needed, so he let it slide.

Still lying between her legs, he had one arm beside her head and was using the other to place his cock just outside her opening. After a moment or two of teasing the area, making sure it was prepared to take him all, he began pushing on in. Quickly, his free hand was needed to be placed across Buffy’s mouth as she began to cry out in ecstasy.

He smiled and slowed down. “Maybe you should invest in some soundproofing.”

“Shut up,” she said, but there was no heat in it.

“Don’t think _I’m_ the problem,” he said, still teasing.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him intently as she began rocking her hips until he couldn’t help but grunt. Then she smiled in victory. “I can make you enjoy it just as much.”

“Got me there,” he said, before thrusting harder and both of them lost all desire to joke.

Buffy’s second and third orgasms took longer to build and were more intense than the first. Spike came as the final aftershocks echoed through her body and they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms for a few minutes afterward, still high off the sensation.

All too soon, the logical part of Buffy’s brain kicked in again and she started to push him away.

“I know, I know,” he said. “Don’t wanna risk Niblet or Red walking in on us. I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” she whispered as he got up to search for his clothes.

The next morning, Buffy came downstairs and was surprised to find Spike on her couch watching cartoons.

“Did you even go home last night?” she demanded, voice low.

He flashed her a wicked grin.

“Spike, this is not okay. We should…” she crossed her arms. “We have to talk about what happened up there.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Whole place stank of garlic. You should get that looked at.”

“I’m serious,” she said, giving him her best scowl. “You can’t just make yourself at home any time you like.”

“Really,” he said, pulling her onto his lap.

She protested at first but, when he kissed her, she returned the motion. _Stupid body_ , _always betraying me_.

The kisses continued for a little while but so did Buffy’s thoughts and, when Spike’s hands began to wander, she was forced to put an end to it. She pulled back and glared some more. He gave her a puppy dog expression.

Buffy rolled her eyes and explained for the hundredth time that what they were doing wasn’t safe and that if Dawn caught them she’d murder him.

“Fine,” he said, pouting then standing up. Having been on top of him, Buffy was forced to stand too. He leaned close to her ear. “Come back to bed when the others have left.”

With another quick peck on the mouth and a cheeky wink, he was gone – taking off up the stairs silently as he made his way back to her bedroom.

Buffy was left standing there, overcome with a mixture of emotions.

_I’ll show him,_ she decided, all kinds of fun ideas springing to mind.


	17. Chance of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene set around the time of ‘Doublemeat Palace’

Spike was pleased, upon entering his crypt, to find Buffy sitting there waiting for him. He was less pleased when he saw she had that distanced look on her face again and more unshed tears in her eyes, however.

“Buffy?” he asked, reaching out to stroke her cheek. She flinched away and his heart sank. _Is this the day she finally ends it?_ he wondered, sitting opposite her. “What’s wrong?”

She looked at him then shook her head, casting her eyes elsewhere around the room. She pulled her arms more tightly around herself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Spike made a scoffing sound and suddenly her eyes were back on his. She’d have glared him into the ground if she could. “Really full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Reckon I gotta be, since you have no faith in me.”

Buffy sighed. “This really isn’t about you.”

“Fine!” he snapped, standing up. “Maybe it’s not my business, and maybe I wouldn’t understand, but I’m willing to damn well try!” In the next moment, his voice became a whisper. “You’re here because you know I’ll try; because you don’t dare open up to anyone else. So here I am–” he spread his arms wide in front of her. “Open up whenever you want. Ready an’ waiting, that’s me.”

“I hate how you’re right,” said Buffy, which made Spike crack a grin.

“Thanks, pet.”

“Ugh!” she groaned, throwing herself further back into the couch. “It’s everything and it’s nothing. When did life become so complicated?”

“When you started having one again,” Spike hedged. “…or maybe when you started being able to create it again.” Another hard stare from her to him, but different from before. He knew he’d guessed correctly. “Can smell you, Slayer,” he explained, to which she gave him a horrified look.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Hey, now, none of that. Can’t help the senses I got. Add a basic fact to a little intuition and, yeah, I think I’m able to understand. It’s your first one since you were resurrected, right?”

“We are _so_ not talking about this.”

“Why? You think chattin’ about periods is gonna scare me off? They’re just another fact of life, Buffy.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Right, okay, ‘cause that’s the real problem, init? It’s what they represent: the ability to have sprogs; to give life. From your perspective as one who takes lives, one who’s lost her own life more than once, I can see why–”

“I don’t take lives.”

“Yeah,” said Spike, flashing her a mocking smirk. “Because demons don’t count as real beings. Our lives don’t matter.”

“That’s right,” she ground out.

Spike’s faux smile dropped and he got in her face. “You don’t believe that.”

Buffy was trembling just ever so slightly but she refused to give in. She bit her lip, to stop herself. Spike’s smirk returned at her silence, but it was more genuine the second time round. “No,” he repeated, “You don’t believe that.”

She looked away and asked of the walls, “Am I a bad person? Is this fate, or the Powers that Be, or life itself taunting me?” The wall that had been holding back her tears broke, one trickling loose at her questions.

“No, Buffy,” Spike assured her, before amending: “Well, not any more than anyone else.”

Buffy wiped angrily at her eyes. “Why am I freaked?”

“Because you forgot what it felt like to feel stuff. An’ having your monthlies reminds you that you’re human, that you’re a woman, who can have kids.”

“Please stop talking about kids!” she pleaded. “And stop being insightful, it’s freaking me more.”

He nudged her over, placing himself beside her and lighting a cigarette. Unthinkingly, he offered her one, too. And to his great surprise she actually _did_ take it – not to light, of course, but to twirl in her fingers.

“You did ask,” he said, his eyes transfixed on the careful movement of the white stick in her hand. Reckoned she was seeing some kind of metaphorical significance in that, too, but decided not to mention it. “Look, Buffy, I know havin’ a normal life an’ family is a sore issue for you.”

“You have no idea!”

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, snatching the cigarette back from her so she’d look at him again. “You want to believe I don’t understand you. That’s why you get all pissed when I say somethin’ that proves I do.”

“Shut up!” she snapped – standing up, starting to pace. “Just stop talking!”

Spike took a deep breath. “Tense, luv?” he asked, softly. Sincerely. He got the feeling she was about to respond with an emphatic ‘duh’ but spoke again first. “I could give you a massage? Help you relax.”

She looked down at the floor again and released a sigh. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”


	18. Just a Dead Thing: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from 'Dead Things.'  
> The aftermath of Buffy leaving Spike in the alley behind the police station. Possibly triggering mentions of violence and abuse.

When Buffy walked out of the police station mere moments after she went in, Spike knew she hadn’t admitted anything. Logically, he knew it was probably because of some reason other than the few he’d offered, but part of him hoped what he said to her mattered on some level.

Regardless, the important thing was she wasn’t giving up her life to rot in a jail cell. For that, he was thankful. He’d have given a sigh of relief if breathing weren’t so damn painful. All he could do was watch as she passed the mouth of the alleyway he was lying in.

The alley she’d left him in.

To her credit, she did hesitate. As she paused, Buffy did throw him a glance. Her eyes said she was sorry, even if her mouth didn’t; even if he feet walked in the opposite direction. Fast.

The Slayer was most likely on her way to her mates. Spike knew that if the same situation had happened a year ago, they would have been the first port of call. He also knew that if he hadn’t been around when it happened, the Slayer would have come to him until the guilt built up in her enough to go to the police. Didn’t matter, though. That’s still where she had ended up. Seemed that no matter how messed up things got, the outcomes never changed. He had faith that no matter how much she beat him down, or how much she said she didn’t want him, she’d be back in his bed soon enough.

“Spike?”

He was pulled from his thoughts by a friendly voice. There weren’t many of those around in his unlife, so it didn’t take him long to figure out who it belonged to.

“Yeah, what?” he said to Clem.

“Are you okay?”

“Lying bleeding in a bloody alley, what do you think?”

“Hey, no need to snap, mister!”

Spike tried for a grin but it wasn’t long in becoming a grimace. It was the first time Clem got a good look at him.

“Yeesh! What happened?”

“Had a little fight with the misses, init.”

“Spike, this is wrong,” said Clem. “Why would she–”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Spike. “Not askin’ you to understand.”

“But–”

“It’s between us,” he said more firmly. “Now, are you gonna help me back to my crypt or not?”

Clem did as he was asked, saying nothing as he hauled Spike to his feet. It wasn’t far to the cemetery, but the journey was long enough for his concern to bubble up again.

“You need help,” he said.

“Please,” exclaimed Spike, gesturing as he dismissed the comment then wincing at the movement. “This isn’t a damn domestic abuse situation. There are different rules for us.”

“Maybe there shouldn’t be,” said Clem.

Spike ignored him, only asking to be passed a nearby bottle of bourbon. There was silence for a minute as Clem filled two glasses. Eventually, he dared to ask, “You forgive her?”

Spike stared into the amber liquid, said, “There’s nothin’ to forgive,” and swallowed it down.


	19. Just a Dead Thing: Part Two

If Spike didn’t have an innate ability to know where the sun was in the sky at any given time and therefore always be able to figure out exactly what time it was just by taking a moment to think about it, he would have set his watch by Buffy.

_So bloody predictable_ , he thought as she crept into his home, right on cue.

Clearly she was expecting him to be in the below-ground bit, because she almost walked past him in the dimly lit crypt.

“This a social call, luv?” he called out from his chair.

She whipped around and gasped when she saw his face, which made him quirk an eyebrow at her.

“What?” There was no way she hadn’t known to expect cuts and bruises, seeing as she had been the one to cause them, and yet he could tell the surprise was genuine. Not being able to look in a mirror, Spike didn’t know how bad they were, but he reasoned that they couldn’t be any worse than a few hours previously when Clem had worried himself sick over them.

“Nothing,” said Buffy finally.

Spike watched as she shoved her feelings down and hid the expression from her face. She looked away and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. “So…”

“Don’t you dare try an’ give me bloody small talk!”

Her eyes shot back to his and she winced at seeing his injuries again.

Spike stood up and walked around her; stalked her, like a lion eyeing up an antelope. “Know what you’re here for, so let’s just get bloody on with it.”

“Spike, no.”

He reeled back. “You’re telling me no, now?”

Buffy gaped at him. “I always tell you no!”

“Well, yeah, I’m just not used to hearing you mean it.”

Buffy sighed. “I…” she began, then quickly trailed off, training her eyes on the floor. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Spike made a small ‘hmm’ sound as he continued to circle her. Her shoulders were even more tense than when he’d massaged all the knots out of them the previous week. She didn’t look up as he leaned in close and purred in her ear. “Come to see how I am, is that it?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered.

He took a step back again and resumed speaking in his normal tone. “Well you shouldn’t have bothered. ‘M fine.”

“Clearly,” said Buffy.

“You really aren’t even gonna say it, are you?”

She looked at him again, now able to hide her feelings much better, and played dumb. “Say what?”

Spike shook his head. He hadn’t expected her to apologize and had even said to Clem that he didn’t feel she needed to, so why did he crave the two little words so much? He cursed himself for wanting them.

“Look, I should go. Dawn is–”

“When are you gonna stop using the Bit as an excuse?”

“She isn’t an excuse. She’s my responsibility, and–”

Spike was still shaking his head. “She is when you want her to be.”

Buffy glared at him. “I’m leaving.”

Spike buckled first. He always did. “No,” he pleaded, despite himself. “Stay, please.”

Buffy’s shoulders sagged. “Okay.”

They sat down opposite each other and didn’t talk; just stayed in silence as they drank until things between them weren’t quite so awkward anymore. By that point, Buffy had changed her mind and Spike had stopped caring about his aching body.

He led her downstairs.


	20. Closer and Caught in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairly explicit missing scene from ‘Older and Far Away.’

Buffy half-heartedly fended off the affections of her undead lover, not wanting anyone to catch them in an intimate moment but not really wanting him to stop either. She tried to walk away but he pinned her against the wall of the staircase, a grin slapped across his face.

She knew he was going to get his way and that there was no point fighting it any longer. Not when she wanted it so badly, too. He took her hand and brought it up to his side. She looked up at him, ready to give in, but the next thing she knew was Tara in the hallway staring at them.

Buffy pulled away and retreated to the kitchen, overhearing Spike give some lame excuse about a muscle cramp. When that awkwardness was over, he came into the kitchen after her and she whispered in his ear, “Bedroom. Now,” before pushing past him.

Spike followed behind, his grin ever-wider.

“Buffy,” said Dawn, catching them on their way up the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, board games!” declared Buffy. “I was, uh, gonna get Monopoly from my room. Although, I’m not sure exactly where all the pieces are…” she glanced at Spike. “Could take me a while to collect them all up. He’s gonna help.”

“Oh, cool,” said Dawn, happily skipping back into the living room.

“Nice save,” Spike whispered under his breath before adding, “I’m a little disappointed in how gullible Niblet is,” a little louder.

“Sshhh! And hurry up,” commanded Buffy, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Demanding _and_ eager, I like it,” said Spike. As soon as he got into her room and shut the door, she pounced, pushing him against it and kissing him forcefully while sliding his coat off his shoulders at the same time.

He pushed her back. “Easy does it, kitten. I haven’t even given you your gift yet.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Stop teasing, Spike. Isn’t that why we’re up here?”

“Cutie,” he said, smirking, “Is sex _all_ you think about?”

“Well, it is a prevalent theme where you’re concerned.”

Spike chuckled and reached into the pocket of his duster to pull out a very neatly wrapped package – small and soft – with a silk bow.

“Wow,” said Buffy, her eyes wide. “You actually got me something.”

“Well, yeah. Go on,” he encouraged her, “Open it.”

Peeling back the paper, Buffy found a pair of exquisitely delicate, hand-stitched, lace panties.

“Thought you might need some more,” said Spike, “Since I have a nasty habit of tearing them up.”

“No kidding!” said Buffy. “I’ve gone through more sets in the last couple weeks than the rest of my lifetime put together.” She looked at the gift again. “These are actually beautiful. Are they designer?”

“Only the best for my girl,” said Spike, his chest puffed out. “Even paid for them, too.”

Buffy set them off to the side and pulled him away from the door, pushing him down on the bed instead.

“Knew it’d be worth it,” said Spike.

“Shut up,” said Buffy, pulling his shirt over his head. “And thank you, but I need you right now. No more interruptions.”

“No more teasing,” he agreed, rolling over so he was on top of her.

They undressed each other in between kisses that barely left Buffy any room to breathe, throwing hastily removed clothes all over the room. As soon as Spike had her naked, he pushed apart her knees and shoved himself inside, taking no care to be gentle.

So tight and wet around him, Buffy moaned and rocked her hips in perfect time with his.

“Harder,” she said, digging her nails into his back.

He obliged.

Her moaning got more intense and she had to fight to stop herself from screaming in ecstasy. He got faster and built her up to her first orgasm before slowing down again and carrying on. Spike alternated between speeds for some time, making her cum again and again before he finally exploded himself.

Laying his head on her chest, he stayed inside her while she got her breath back.

“So good,” she said, eventually. “Ready to go again?”

His head shot up from between her breasts and he let out a little growl.

Taking that as a yes, Buffy moved to take her turn on top and he held on tight to her hips as she went at it. She lost count of how many climaxes he gave her and he lost himself again in awe at her physical strength and stamina, never mind her beauty.

They rested for a little while but knew they couldn’t stay together much longer without someone checking on them.

“I need food,” said Buffy, bruised lips held in a pout.

“Yeah,” said Spike, getting up, “And I need a smoke.” He pulled on his pants and did up his belt while watching her get dressed. When she was done, she walked over to him and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

“You go. Have your smoke. I’ll get the game and meet you downstairs in a minute.”

Spike nodded, business-like, and told her he loved her. Buffy smiled back at him but didn’t say anything.

Sometimes he found it easy to pretend she felt the same.


	21. Iced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene set between ‘Older and Far Away’ and ‘As You Were’ detailing the origin of Spike’s comment about Buffy liking ice on the back of her neck (as heard in ‘Normal Again’).

The assassins watched from the trees just beyond the cemetery as the blond warriors battled each other.

“This bodes well for us, sister, don’t you think?”

“Quiet! We don’t want to alert the Slayer’s attention too soon.”

“She’s caught up in battle, oblivious to all else. She won’t notice us – until it’s too late.”

“Hmm… That’s William the Bloody fighting her, is it not?”

“Yes, sister,” she agreed. “Perhaps he’ll finish her off and we won’t need to.”

“Hmm…” the eldest said again.

Spike caught Buffy with a left hook to her jaw and she hit back immediately, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Jackass! I don’t want bruises, I’m getting new photos taken tomorrow for my work ID!”

“Sorry, luv,” he said, poised for the next punch, hopping from one foot to another with fists raised. Driving a blow hard into her abdomen and following it up with a swipe at her legs, he asked, “That better?”

“Screw you,” she said, punching him in _his_ jaw.

He smiled – a trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth – then winked and said, “Later, luv, eh?”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Come on, don’t try and pretend you don’t love a bit of the old rough and tumble.”

She ducked out of a swing at her midsection and brought her knee up towards his groin. “Sure, I mean, what’s not to love?”

“Hey, no fair,” he protested.

“Since when do you play fair?”

“I’m not talkin’ about _me_ , Slayer. And I’m pretty sure you’re gonna want the goods intact for later.”

Buffy shoved him away from her. “Oh, get over yourself.”

“Rather get over you,” said Spike, closing the distance again.

She could tell in the way his posture changed that the game had also switched and leaned in to meet his lips. Then came the tugging of clothes.

“What is this?” exclaimed the younger assassin to her sister, a little too loudly.

Buffy and Spike shot apart, eyes looking all directions.

“What was that?” asked the Slayer.

Spike sniffed the air. “Human-demon-hybrid. Two of them,” he pointed, “Over there.”

“Eww, hybrids? That’s just unnatural!”

He shot her an annoyed look and she sighed.

“I’m just getting you back for not noticing earlier.”

“Was a little distracted, pet,” said Spike in his defense.

The assassins stepped out of the darkness, then, as the older had thought the pair might get caught up in fighting each other again. She was not best pleased and she intended to make Spike know it.

Her talons swiped at lower half.

He leapt clear with an emphatic, “Bloody hell!”

Buffy kicked the assassin away. “Who do you think you are, huh? You can’t just go around trying to chop off people’s… parts!” _Especially not his_ , she added, silently to herself.

Assassin number one responded by trying to carve a bit out of her throat.

“Oi!” said Spike upon seeing the near-miss, before being tackled to the ground by number two.

“Cut his head off,” One instructed, “We don’t need this distraction to our mission.”

Number two tried valiantly, but she was not as experienced as the Master Vampire.

“A distraction,” said Spike as he snapped her arm. “Convenient; in the bloody way. Is that how _everyone_ sees me?”

“No,” said Buffy, smacking number one’s head repeatedly into a tombstone. “Dawn quite likes having you around.”

Spike paused to grin – both at the comment and how it was so casually delivered in the middle of battle – but it was a mistake. He’d taken his eyes off assassin number two and she leapt on the opportunity, coming damn close to severing his neck with the claws of her uninjured arm. The only thing that saved him was Buffy noticing and temporarily abandoning her own fight to push him out of the way, cracking her head against the wall of Spike’s crypt in the process.

Dazed, Buffy stayed down for a bit. Spike wanted to check her over, of course, but first he needed to deal with the threat. He dispatched both of the assassins swiftly after that.

“No one messes with my girl,” he crowed as the last one died. And then he was back at her side, helping her up.

“I, uh, think I need a minute,” said Buffy, eyes firmly closed.

“Here,” said Spike, holding her closer, “Lean on me. That’s right.”

Inside, he got a better look under proper light. “Wound’s not too deep. Probably just a concussion.”

“Lucky me,” said Buffy. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, the darkness offered by her own eyelids helping everything spin less. When she felt something cold at the back of her neck, she almost melted into Spike’s arms. “Oh, that feels good. A little lower. There. _Ahhh_.”

Spike smiled at her, making mental notes to use ice in foreplay some time. They didn’t talk for a bit, until she got her equilibrium back, but it didn’t take long.

“Why do you even have ice?” she asked, when she was finally able to think without wanting to throw up. She was looking at him now.

He shrugged. “Sometimes I like to make blood flavored snow cones.”

“You are _so_ gross!”

Laughing a little, he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You love it.” Then, pulling back, he pressed the ice to the back of her neck again.

Buffy let out a little whimper, responding with a half-hearted, “Shut up.”

Spike’s smile widened. He fought the urge to keep teasing her. Buffy closed her eyes again and leaned back a little more, so her neck was fully resting on the bundled up ice in Spike’s hand.

His eyes swept over her body, scanning for any other wounds that might need tending while also enjoying the view. The hand holding the ice pack moved slightly, drifting over a larger area of skin, while his free hand automatically found itself stroking the hair away from her face.

“So damn beautiful,” he said, without really intending to say it out loud.

Buffy’s eyes flicked open but their gaze was soft; not full of annoyance or rejection, for once. She blushed at him. “Y’know, I could probably be doing with some rest.”

“Oh, right.” Spike switched into serious mode. “I’ll take you home.”

Buffy put a hand on his arm. “No, dummy, that was a not so subtle hint for you to take me downstairs.”

“Oh,” he said again, eyes lighting up.

“Just be gentle, okay?”

Spike smirked at her. “Sure, luv, I can be gentle.”


	22. What I Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene set between Seasons Six & Seven.

Buffy knocked on the door to Spike’s crypt, her heart sinking when Clem opened up.

“He’s still not back yet?”

Clem shook his head. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but it’s only been a couple weeks.”

“I know, I know,” she said, nodding. “I just need to talk to him.”

Clem looked anxious, unsure if he should say anything or not. In the end, he told her, “Spike was pretty distraught when he left. I don’t know what happened, and I’m not gonna pry, but maybe him not being around is for the best.”

Buffy thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. “No,” she decided, “We need to put this to rest, for my own sanity if nothing else.”

“Well,” said Clem, “If it’s that important, why don’t you write him a letter? Even if he never gets it, it’ll probably sort out all the thoughts in your head.”

Again, Buffy took some time to think it over. “You might be right,” she said, finally. “Thank you, Clement.”

Later, in her bedroom, Buffy sat cross-legged on the floor: pen poised in one hand and notebook in the other, the room covered in torn up pieces of paper and a resolute expression on her face.

“Spike,” she wrote, for the twelfth time that day. “I feel so dumb writing this, not gonna lie. But I think we can both agree that things need to be said…

I don’t believe, deep down, you wanted to hurt me. And I think in some ways I can understand what you were trying to do. I’m not saying you were right, or that you’re excused, but I get it, okay? And I think you get it too. You know that you hurt me, and that it was wrong. That’s why you went away. I get that too.

Xander thinks I should hate you, and maybe he’s right, but the fact is: I don’t.

I hate what you almost did, and that it hurt – _still_ hurts – so much, but I don’t hate you. Honestly? I’m not sure if I’m able.

Looking back at it now, I can see there were a few points where if things had of gone just a little differently we’d be in a whole other place right now. But in all those instances, the wrong thing happened to keep us on the bad path.

I’m willing to take my share of responsibility in that.

…I mean responsibility for the bad path thing, not the other thing, because – oh, you know what I mean!”

Buffy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and cracked her neck before continuing on. “If I hadn’t denied I was attracted to you at the start. I mean, I found myself kissing you and yet I still refused to admit it!” – she shook her head – “If I had just let things develop naturally, maybe we could have had a normal relationship. Or if your natural response to finding out you could hit me again was anything other than hitting me again, maybe we wouldn’t be here now.

But even before that, if you’d have done things right and properly helped out the gang when Giles first suggested it, right after you got chipped, we’d have spent more time working together and getting to know each other properly. Things like that, so many things that could have changed all of the stuff, between then and now.

You have no idea how much I wish everything was different.

I wish I hadn’t taken what was new and fragile between us to the next level – it was too soon. Way, way too soon. But I want you to know that I’ve always wanted you, and that in that moment I couldn’t see anything else.

I wish I hadn’t punished you for all the things I was going through.

I wish I wasn’t so scared about how my friends would react to the truth. God, I even I wish Xander would have married Anya, selfishly, so you never would have been together.

I wish we could have gone to their wedding and been a cliché happy couple ourselves. Or, even if that didn’t work out, if Willow had found the camera feed a half-hour earlier and we could have overheard how much both of you were hurting. We could have gone to you and tried to make things right before you did that. That hurt a lot too, y’know, for the record. Not as much as you telling Xander about us the way you did, but I’m not blaming you for that because it was my place to say and I didn’t.

Even if you’d accidentally told people on camera about us it would have been such a relief in the end. I think when you did say it – in that moment – you wanted to hurt me, like I’d hurt you, and that hurt even more. God, there’s just been so much hurt! And, what I’m saying is that so much of it could have been avoided. I know it’s pointless wishing about things that could have been, but here’s one wish for the future: that you’ll come back, and we can fix things.”

Buffy looked down at the words. They weren’t perfect, but they would do. With a sigh she stood up, gathered all the loose sheets of paper including the finished letter and took them outside where she burned them and let the ashes blow away in the wind.


	23. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene set just before the start of Season Seven in which we discover how Spike’s iconic coat, left behind in Buffy’s house at the end of Season Six, ended up in a box in the school basement a couple of months later.

“Why aren’t you uninviting him? I mean, I get that Willow’s not here to break out the big mojo, but you’ve been through the process enough times by now; you must be able to do the spell on your own.”

Spike could hear Xander from all the way down the street. He’d been hearing a lot of damn funny things, lately. Mostly criticism of his actions, which made sense, but often spoken by people long-dead, which didn’t.

This was different.

Though clearly about him, the words weren’t directed _at_ him. Which was worse. Now it was Buffy getting chewed out because of something he’d done. Because she was showing mercy over it. Where was the justice in that?

Spike paused his approach to Buffy’s house, awaiting her reply and trying to keep his footing despite the torrent of shame threatening to wash him away.

“What’s the point?” she said. “It’s not like he’s around.”

She sounded sad. Exhausted, like she’d had the same conversation a thousand times already. It almost had Spike turning on his heel, but curiosity about how the rest of the exchange might play out got the better of him. That, and her scent. He’d forgotten how strong it was while on the other side of the globe but now here it was again, surrounding him. He could no more walk away than he could force himself to stop dreaming of her.

“What’s the point?” repeated Xander. “Buffy, the point is he could come back here at any time and finish the job.”

Spike winced, flashbacks playing in his mind.

“No, Xander, he wouldn’t. Not now.”

God, he felt sick. That she might still have faith in him, somehow.

“Are you insane?” exclaimed Xander. “How could you possibly still be blind to how dangerous he is?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Damn right I don’t!”

Much as he hated the boy, Spike found himself siding with Xander. Not in terms of the delivery, of course. There was never any need to be quite that callous, but he had a point.

Buffy sighed audibly. “It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit,” said Xander. “Advanced trig is complicated. This is fucked up.”

“Yes, okay,” said Buffy, her voice raised. “It’s fucked up, I agree. But it’s _my_ fucked up situation, not yours, so why don’t you leave it to me to handle it?”

“Because, _clearly_ , you’re not handling it. You’re just gonna let it slide like some no-big-deal.”

“I’m not. I’m really not. But even if I did, that’s my decision to make!”

Spike didn’t want to hear any more. By the sound of the voices, Buffy and Xander were in the living room. That was good. He should be able to slip in, get what he needed, and get out again without her ever knowing.

He opened the back door silently and was at the basement door in a few quick steps. Downstairs, Spike made short work of his search. Where there had once been a lot of junk there was now only a couple of boxes: one of tools and one of weapons, survivors of the flood.

The coat wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Voices whispered that it was upstairs, in Buffy’s bedroom.

The voices said he needed it.

_To remind you what you are. A killer._

Spike didn’t think he was in any danger of forgetting, but he knew better than to argue. It hadn’t done him any good, the long trip home. Not that Sunnydale was home, of course. He hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

_Creatures like us don’t deserve a home and a family._

That one sounded like Dru. Spike had to momentarily close his eyes to shut it out.

Upstairs. Fine. He could manage that. Giving in to what the voices wanted usually made them quieter, for a bit.

Rather than run the risk of bumping into Buffy in the hallway, Spike climbed the stairs to the ground floor and slipped back out the back door before walking around to the side of the house and slipping in a window.

God, her scent was stronger here. Of course it was. He didn’t know why he was surprised.

It didn’t whisper at him, it screamed, making something in his blood howl in reply.

More flashbacks. Louder demands to complete the job.

_Unless you want to skip this part and give the boy the satisfaction of being right. You could take her so easily, now. She wouldn’t even see it coming._

A snarl rumbled low in his throat at the idea. That he would _ever_ even come close again. Whatever the fuck the voices were, they could shove that suggestion right where the sun shone. Non-fucking negotiable.

The image of the woman beside him sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Just get the coat and go, you big baby. You don’t have to see your girlfriend.”

Spike wanted to rip her throat out, but experience told him that wouldn’t work. He didn’t know where the knowledge came from, but he had the distinct feeling the bint was one of Angel’s victims. Maybe someone close to Buffy. Bloody well brassed off and in want of revenge, by the sound of it.

Again, Spike had to ask himself why Buffy was destined to pay for the sins of others. Was dying to save the world not enough?

Downstairs, Xander seemed finally to have let up. It sounded like Dawn had joined them and they were all lost in some movie. That was something, at least.

The sound of Dawn’s laugh went through Spike, stabbing at his undead heart.

“Say a word about the Bit and I’ll never do another thing you say,” Spike cautioned the dead chick, who raised her hands in surrender.

“Just hurry up already.”

That part, he could get on board with. Being back in the Summers house was torture. Which, fair enough, he deserved, but it wouldn’t be right for Buffy to walk in and find him. She’d suffered enough.

“Aha!” There, in her closet, was the offending item. Spike ran his fingers over the leather, pulling it from the hanger.

He couldn’t bear to put it on. To do that, he’d have to face reality and start asking himself why she’d kept it, and why – of everything – it smelled of her scent most strongly of all; why there were unmistakable tearstains on the lapel.

Mission complete, Spike leapt from the window and ran down the street fast as he could, the voices on the wind laughing at his terror all the way.


	24. Stolen Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from ‘Lies My Parents Told Me.’

Buffy closed her bedroom door, shutting out Giles on the other side. She then closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before walking to her bed and throwing herself down.

Spike watched her from the corner of the room, his head tilted. After a moment, she turned around to look at him. “How long have you been hanging out here?”

“Since I got back from beating the principal to a pulp.”

Buffy rolled over and sighed. “I guess it’s best we stay out of the way for a bit. Don’t think we’re too popular.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”

Propping herself up on her elbows to look at him properly, Buffy gestured to chair. “You gonna just stand there all night?”

“Do you mind me being here?”

“Of course not. Need any bandages?”

He shook his head and took his seat. “What are the chances of me being staked in my sleep?”

“Minimal, I think. Safe to say you won’t need my protection at any rate.”

He grinned. “Here was me thinking I could use the assassination attempt to my advantage.”

“You still want to take advantage?” asked Buffy, also grinning. “Any excuse to be around me, huh?”

“I think it’s a damn fine excuse, personally. You know I sleep like a log. Who’s gonna watch my back if I’m downstairs on my cot?”

Buffy’s grin faded. “Spike…”

“I know, I know. Pushing my luck. Ignore me.”

“I think you’ll be fine,” she said decidedly, only for her eyes to widen the more she thought about it. “Oh, god, you better be, cause if you die and leave me alone in this war I’ll personally resurrect you just to put a stake in your chest.”

“You’re all heart, luv.”

“What can I say? I need you around.”

Spike stood up. “I’ll be going then. To the basement, I mean.”

As he reached for the door handle, Buffy blurted out, “I’m glad you didn’t kill him.”

Spike’s shoulders dropped a little. “And why’s that?”

“Because I would have never been able to speak to Giles again.”

“Huh,” he said, turning back around to face her.

“What?”

“I don’t get you.”

Buffy laughed a little. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Alright, pet. I’ll tell you this: you only get allotted so many parental types in life and you shouldn’t take them for granted.”

She stared at him.

“Giles has been the closest thing you’ve had to a dad for years now,” Spike continued, “Don’t throw that away over me. You know he’s only looking out for you, and you also know he has a point. Now, I’m not saying I agree with what he and Wood tried to do, but–”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“Tough!” said Spike, his voice raw-sounding before he lowered it again. “I killed my mother, Buffy. I killed her to save her – for her own good, or so I thought. I thought it was for the best, but I was wrong. So, yeah, in some twisted way I understand what he tried to do.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed a little. “Tell me about her.”

Spike allowed himself a little smile. “She would have adored you.”

“Yeah, the girl that used her little boy for sex and then tossed him aside. I’m sure she’d be my biggest fan.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Say what now?”

“You. You’re a hypocrite,” said Spike. “You’re all about defending me these days. Not letting me be defined by my past actions, because I’ve changed or what-all, but you refuse to give yourself the same liberty. My mother was a good woman and an excellent judge of character; forgiving to a fault, like you.”

Buffy considered this seriously. “Sometimes you make it sound like… like you think I shouldn’t have forgiven you. Like you disagree with my choice.”

Spike shook his head. “It’s not that. As long as I walk this earth – probably long after, in fact – I’ll be grateful for this second chance. It’s just… it’s just that, with every chance you give me, you give me another opportunity to hurt you.” He paused to clear his throat. “And I’d rather die than hurt you again. If Giles is right, and there’s any possibility of you suffering for showing kindness to me, then I wish Wood had of done it.” He sighed. “I guess any possibly will be reduced now anyways, what with the trigger being deactivated and all.”

“Giles wasn’t right,” insisted Buffy. “He isn’t. And, whoa, wait – the triggers deactivated? How do you know?”

Spike shrugged. “Fighting with Wood while under the influence of it helped me finish the job that stone thing started. When I played the song again, the power was gone.”

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s so good. You feel free-er?”

“That I do,” he confirmed, taking a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his duster. “Okay if I light up?”

“Since when do you ask my permission for everything, Spike?”

“Since, uh…”

She dropped her eyes. “Right. Stupid question. Yes you can smoke, just crack a window first.”

Passing the bed to get to the window, he stopped for a moment to look down at her, still stretched out on top of the covers. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you, for taking my side against your friends and co-workers.”

“It was long overdue. And, for the record, I haven’t really been _taking_ your side–”

“You’ve _been_ my side. I know.”

“And you’ve been mine. As much as we fought over the years, and as much as we’ve disagreed, you’ve always seen through me and been there for me when no-one else could.”

“What can I say?” asked Spike, echoing her earlier words. “I needed you around.”

“As if,” said Buffy, brushing off the sentiment.

Breaking his gaze away from her, Spike opened the window and returned to his seat. “Don’t you know how much you define me? How much my love for you structures my un-life?”

Again she fell silent.

“I mean it,” said Spike. “Luv, if I didn’t have you around, who would I be? Not a vampire – not really – and not a man. But whatever I am – warrior for good and what not – I am because that’s the role you’ve given me. If you weren’t here, what would I do with myself? Sit in front of the TV all day drinking? Working out a meaningless existence? Not fighting. Not killing things. Not doing anything of note.”

Buffy sat up straighter. “What about while I was gone? You were still around. You still fought.”

“I was here for Dawn – which was indirectly still for you – but she doesn’t need me now.”

“Angel seems to do alright,” said Buffy, “Living his un-life without me.”

“Angel has friends.”

Buffy winced. “I’m sorry. I never realized how lonely you were.”

“It’s okay. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m just saying… you’re everything to me. As in, literally.”

Buffy shifted uncomfortably as she decided whether to make a confession or not. Finally choosing to reward his honesty, she said, “You may not believe this but, if you had of died tonight, I don’t know if I could have coped; if I could have gone on without you. Not like that. I couldn’t have fought by their sides knowing they’d taken you away from me. The war would have been lost by default.”

“You’re right,” said Spike. “I don’t believe it.”

Buffy whole body tensed at the dismissal. “Come on! The whole reason there’s a slight possibility that you might hurt me again is because you _can_ ; because you’re close. If I wasn’t dependent on you – if I didn’t care – it wouldn’t matter what you did; you wouldn’t be able to touch me.”

She leaned close, emphasizing her words, and Spike mirrored her body language.

“But you can,” she continued, “You can touch me.”

Before he knew it, he’d raised himself out of his chair again and was standing over her with his lips locked to hers. They kissed for a long while before Buffy broke away, gasping for breath.

“I’m not sure that’s what I meant,” she said quietly, mostly to herself, and he pulled back. “Hey,” she added, “I didn’t say stop!”

“I should stop. Should go.” For the second time that evening, he made for the door.

Again, Buffy called him back; telling him to wait.

Spike looked at her and she looked at him. For a moment, they just stood there, locked in silence.

“What am I waiting for?” Spike asked, finally.

Buffy looked away, only allowing herself to whisper the answer once he was back down the stairs: “Me.”


	25. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when trapped in the dark with a deadly demon? Well, if you’re Andrew Wells, you interrogate him about his feelings for the Slayer. (Missing scene from ’Touched.’)

“Wanna play rock, paper, scissors?”

The boy was relentless. So irritating, Spike briefly considered returning to his life of bloodshed. Instead, he settled for a glare that would have had lesser people wetting themselves. “What's the matter with you? Don't you understand what's happening?”

“Uh... yeah,” said Andrew, clearly unaffected. “We're waiting here ‘till it's night again so you can ride on your motorcycle without exploding.”

“And every minute we're stuck here, the Slayer's out there facing hell knows what!”

“Come on,” said Andrew in a whine. “What's the worst thing that could happen to her?”

Spike suppressed a growl and Andrew, to his credit, paused; if only for a moment.

“So what’s the deal with you two anyway?” he asked, continuing on when Spike only stared at him, speechless. “I mean, you’re both all hot with the sexual tension, right? Why don’t you just–”

“Enough!” Spike snapped. Being irritating was one thing, but prying into things best left closed was something else. “I swear if you don’t shut your gob I’ll open that door and walk into the sun rather than spend another second hearin’ about it.”

“Alright, geeze, sorry!” Andrew rolled from his stomach onto his back. Less, in what Spike suspected, a sign of supplication and more of just something to do. He picked at his nails. “I just thought that maybe you’d want to talk about it, you know, man to man. Seeing as how you and Xander don’t chat, and Giles doesn’t really like you, and–”

“Me and Buffy are private,” said Spike. He’d meant it to be his last word on the matter but, seeing as how he didn’t want the room to lapse into silence lest Andrew try and fill it again, he continued: “It’s complicated. Not somethin’ easily put into words, right?”

Andrew nodded, his eyes shining with delight but mouth blessedly closed.

This, for reasons he wasn’t quite clear on, bothered Spike even more. “I don’t know what the great obsession is,” he grumbled. “Every one of the damn Scooby support crew is whisperin’. Don’t think I haven’t heard.”

“It’s the love story of the century,” said Andrew, in a ‘duh’ kind of way. “A Slayer and a Vampire in love. It’s all–“

“Not love,” said Spike.

“What?” The interruption seemed to have thrown Andrew off.

Spike looked away from him. “Buffy, she– she doesn’t– oh, bloody hell, didn’t I say I wasn’t talkin’ about this?”

Andrew mimed a zipping motion across his lips. In the whole two minutes he managed to stay silent this time, Spike mused on his tragic romantic situation afresh. Damn depressing was what it was. He regretted ever letting his feelings out of the bag in the first place. To think that he’d been so close and lost it all… It was worse than never havin’ held her at all.

He’d guessed that in advance, of course – told Riley as much – but that didn’t stop Spike touching when he got the chance. How could he not? The fact that she’d even let him, for a while…

Spike stood up and stomped around, wishing he had some nasty beast to brutalize, or at least a cigarette left to smoke. Buffy was in danger and here he was, resisting everything within himself not to cry.

Softly – more delicately than Spike had ever heard him talk before; with almost a reverent tone – Andrew whispered, “I think she does love you. Maybe she just…” he paused for thought. “Maybe some day she’ll tell you.”

The words stirred something in Spike’s chest, bringing a memory along with. The girl at Buffy’s high school had told him something similar, hadn’t she? So many of his memories from back then were jumbled. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t decide if the seer’s message was real or just a product of wishful thinking.

Spike shook himself, deciding he couldn’t allow the vulnerability. It was a distraction. Buffy had said of herself that she needed him to put away the mooneyes and focus on being backup muscle.

Just as soon as he got home, he’d be at her side doing just that. And for as long as she wasn’t ready for him to go anywhere, he’d be stuck.


	26. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from ‘End of Days.’

Buffy left the room, giving Giles some space to start researching the scythe. Willow followed her out into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

“Hey,” she said. “Buffy? I, uh–”

“It’s okay, Will. You don’t need to say it.”

“No, I do. We were wrong; it’s just, _everything_ ’s so wrong.”

Buffy sighed. “I know.”

“We shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Buffy gave her a halfhearted smile but didn’t say anything.

Willow held her arms out a little and looked at the Slayer, unsure if her forgiving attitude would stretch to a hug, but Buffy gladly wrapped her arms around her best friend and held her tightly.

“We went looking for you but the locator spell just lead us to an empty house.”

Buffy pulled back a little. “Spike wasn’t there?”

“Was he supposed to be?” asked Willow tentatively.

Buffy shrugged. “He must have left after I did.”

“Buffy, did you–” Willow bit her lip. “He was there with you?”

She nodded. “He came to me. We talked. He was so sweet, y’know? Well, actually, you guys _don’t_ know. You never really get to see that side of him.”

Willow clearly didn’t know what to say, so Buffy kept talking. “He just… he gets me. And I know none of you approve, and I understand that, and I can’t explain it fully, but he means a lot to me, Will.”

When Buffy smiled this time, there was warmth behind it. She felt her eyes brighten. “He said he loves how I try, but doesn’t he see how funny that is? He’s like Mr. Never-Give-Up, Captain of the Persistence Team. I think that’s it – that’s why he has such a place in my heart, because he fought his way there and he’s too stubborn to leave. I mean, sure, he’s messed up a lot, but that hasn’t stopped him from trying. He’s the only person never to walk away from me.”

Coming out of her soliloquy, Buffy looked up just in time just to catch a mix of hurt and guilt sweep across Willow’s face. “Sorry, Will, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I just got a little carried away.”

“I can see why,” said Willow. “If he is as genuinely good and kind as you say, which I’m starting to think he is, then I can’t judge you for wanting him. God, the way you just made him sound made _me_ kinda want him.”

They both laughed, welcoming the break to the earlier tension.

“Seriously though, we all doubted your sanity in being with him, but we should have known better; should have trusted that you could see something we couldn’t.”

“I didn’t want to trust it myself at first, if I’m honest,” said Buffy. “But I’m glad I gave him a second chance.”

“So, what now? Are you together again, or…?”

Buffy shook her head, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. “No. Not together.”

“But you wanna be though, right?”

“Come on, Willow. I’ve always wanted to be, but it’s not that simple.”

“Whoa, okay,” Willow raised her hands in a halting motion. “What exactly do you mean by the ‘always’ in that sentence?”

“Always?” repeated Buffy. “I didn’t say always.”

A wide grin stretched across Willow’s face. “Oh my gosh, you were attracted to him from day one?!”

Buffy blushed. “Never. Tell. Anyone.”

Willow did a little salute. “Scout’s honor. But, uh, what now?”

Buffy sighed again. “I really don’t know.”

“Do you love him?” Willow asked, but she got no response. Buffy just stood there, silently avoiding eye contact. “Oh, god, Buffy. You gotta tell him!”

“Tell him?” scoffed Buffy. “I can’t even admit it out loud to you!”

Willow opened her mouth to reply but was distracted by her bedroom door opening and Kennedy walking out into the hall. The conversation dropped abruptly as the young potential eyed first her girlfriend and then Buffy suspiciously.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, honey,” Willow assured her. “We’re just talking. Making up.”

“Then why do I have the overwhelming feeling I just walked in on a murder plot? I mean, geez, guys, you could pierce the tension with a stake.”

“Honestly, everything’s fine. We just need a bit longer.”

“If you’re sure,” said Kennedy, still not looking at all convinced.

“The sure-est,” affirmed Willow, watching Kennedy stalk off on her way downstairs.

After waiting a moment or two for her to get out of earshot, Buffy admitted, “I’m scared.”

“Okay, fine, so you’re scared. Are you really gonna let that stop you from being happy? You know how much he loves you, and if you love him back it makes no sense for you to be apart.”

Buffy stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re actually encouraging me to peruse this.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it myself six months ago,” said Willow. “But you’re the one who keeps saying he’s changed.”

“He has.”

“So you’re gonna go after him?”

A crease appeared in Buffy’s forehead from the stress of thinking too much. “Maybe,” was all she would commit to.


	27. The Final Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from 'Chosen.'  
> Last in the series.

Buffy walked down the wooden stairs to the basement, confident in what she was about to ask but terrified by what Spike might say in return. She turned to face him as she reached the bottom but kept her head down. Feeling his eyes on her, she imagined herself running back up again, slamming the door and leaning against it so he’d always be there and there’d always be a chance.

“What is it?” he asked, obvious concern in his voice.

Fighting against all her instincts, Buffy brought her eyes up to meet his and let him see that they were glossy with half-formed tears.

“What…?” he said again, so softly she barely heard him.

Taking a few steps toward him, she kneeled and let a tear escape down her cheek. “You know what you said? About being terrified? About never being close?”

“Buffy, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Get up, I didn’t mean to–.”

“No,” she interrupted, feeling a tremble go the whole way through her body. “I’m not upset. I’m not feeling sorry for myself; I’m feeling honest with myself. I’ve never let anyone in, not all the way. Not even Angel. He got so close and then, when he turned, it all ripped away and I wasn’t willing to let anyone else even try to get near me but I can’t do it anymore, William.”

Her tears were streaming heavily now, but she continued. “For once in my life I’m going to let myself be vulnerable to someone – completely vulnerable – and I can’t think of anyone better to let in.”

Spike joined her on the floor, also kneeling. Facing her, he held her hands the way he did when she first came back to him from the grave.

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve _you_. After what I almost did… after how I hurt you, I should _never_ be the one you let in.”

“But it’s too late, don’t you see? You’re in my heart already. Maybe don’t deserve to be there but you are and, unless you haven’t noticed, I don’t deserve you either. I’m sorry I took from you what I needed while letting you get hurt; while letting my friends badmouth you to your face, and not sticking up for you when you were the only one really there for me. We both did some shitty stuff to each other but it’s not the same now and I want to re-write it.”

Spike’s voice quavered. “What are you saying?”

“I’m… I’m saying I trust you, and…”

“And?” he pressed, ever so gently.

“And I want you to be with me,” said Buffy.

Spike’s eyes searched hers, his brow furrowed with frustration at still not being able to work her all the way out. “Buffy,” he said firmly, “What. Are. You. Saying?”

In a whisper, she finally let out the words she’d came to say; the request she had no right to make: “Make love to me.”

Spike kissed her tear-stained cheeks. “Are you sure?”

Buffy nodded. “I’m scared, but I’m sure.”

Rising to his feet, Spike gently pulled her up and towards himself. He wrapped his arms around her and moved his lips to hers. She slowly let her hands glide over his body. Taking off his shirt, Buffy placed her hands against his chest as she looked up at him.

“What if someone comes down?” he asked.

“Let them. I’m not ashamed of this.”

“God, Buffy, you don’t know how much that means.”

“I do,” she said, peeling off her own clothes so she stood before him completely naked. “Trust me, I do.”

\---

Afterward, when he held her, he admitted that he’d never done that before. “I never thought I would.”

“If this is my last night on this earth – If the world really does end tomorrow – I wanted to spend it like this,” said Buffy. “I wanted my last time having sex to be making love, the same way my first was. And I know that doesn’t sound right but–”

“It sounds perfect,” said Spike before going completely still.

Buffy stilled in response. “What’s wrong?”

“I know I’m an ass for asking but…” he closed his eyes. “I can’t help it, Buffy. Do you think you could ever love me?”

Kissing him softly in response, she thought she could speak volumes through her actions. She thought he would know, and that it would be enough.

After a moment or two, Spike broke away once more saying, “I lied, y’know?”

Buffy’s eyes grew wide but still she didn’t say anything.

“About not dreaming about us being together anymore,” Spike continued. “I do want a damn picket fence.”

Letting out a relieved laugh, Buffy held him closer with a quiet, “I know.”


End file.
